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a-lil-perspective · 3 years ago

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~Asher starts preschool. Crosshair and Auntie have feelings™~

———

“What do you think about Asher going to school?”

He’s shooting her an incredulous glance before the words have even fully left her mouth. Mulling over the question and its implications he does not at all like.

“Right, my mistake,” Dee murmurs after a moment but she’s not in the least bit deterred. She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders. “Asher is going to start school.”

Crosshair looks askance.

“Not a good idea.”

“I know you don’t think so,” she sighs, moving towards him passively. “But he needs it.”

Crosshair is scrambling. “Why? What’s wrong with hi��what he gets here?”

“Nothing is wrong with it,” she soothes. “He just needs things we alone can’t give him.”

“Like what.”

It comes out far sharper than intended, but the wife of Crosshair holds her ground.

“He needs more social interaction, the opportunity to be around kids his age that aren’t his cousins—”

“With his cousins he knows where he belongs, who his people are,” Crosshair interrupts tersely. “Out there he has no clue.” He turns away from her. “I’m not willing to subject him to that.”

“Maybe let him decide for himself who he is—”

“He’s a child, he doesn’t need to worry about that right now—”

“Will you stop interrupting me? Please?”

Crosshair clears his throat, resetting his stance with immediacy. “Right. Continue.”

Delana blows out a breath. “Asher has always been here, with us; by keeping him from the Galaxy we’re doing him a huge disservice. He needs exposure, the chance to venture out some—”

“There’s nothing out there that I can’t teach him.”

“Cross, he needs structure.”

And Crosshair is silenced. Reminiscent of what structure looked like for him maybe a lifetime ago. Tests and training and compliance. Love and war and cruelty and demented subservience and a ruinous identity. Structure that made him the man he is today. For better or for worse.

As always, his wife is privy to his thoughts.

“I know it makes you remember things you just want to forget, things you can’t even imagine for Asher,” she settles a hand on his shoulder. “But things are different now. I wouldn’t suggest this if I didn’t think it would be good for him. You know we’d never do anything to put him in harm’s way. We never have.”

Crosshair caves under the weight. “I know.”

“He’s gonna be five soon,” she hums sweetly.

His shoulders sag further. “Don’t remind me.”

“It’s just preschool; half a day.”

“Sweetheart—”

“Cross. I’ve already enrolled him.” She gives him a sympathetic smile. “It’s done.”

Crosshair sighs in defeat.

Delana turns to their small child currently engrossed in a puzzle. She kneels to be eye-level with him. “Ramser’ika.” Golden tawny eyes snap up to her. “How would you like to go to school?”

His little gasp has Crosshair’s heart palpitating. “School, Mommy?”

“Yes!” She smiles brightly at his interest. “Where you can play with other boys and girls your age and learn lots of new things. Does that sound fun?”

“Yeah!” Asher whoops with a puzzle piece in each hand. “I wanna go to school now Mommy, can we go to school?”

“Soon,” she hums. “And Daddy and I will take you.”

—

“Woa—slow down Ramser’ika—” Delana stumbles with a breathless laugh as Asher tugs her towards the bright building in the distance, buzzing with quiet excitement. He’s enrapt with the vibrant world around him, though he carries this expression not unlike overwhelm. She manages to gently wrangle him back to a stroll at her side. “Patience, Little Sniper. I know you see your school. We’ll get there.”

He heeds her words as his gaze remains on the path ahead, his little fingers gripping hers soundly. Her smile blooms at her son’s wonder. She promises to herself that today’s journey will be the first of many.

She cards her fingers through his soft hair. “How’s that backpack?”

“I love it!” Asher squeaks, a pep in his step that despite all trepidations currently bubbling their way to the surface, she can’t help but find endearing. His little stature carries the weight of Crosshair’s old pack with neither fret nor strain. Oh the wonder of transporting paper and crayons instead of ammo.

“Mommy, carry me?”

As if she hasn’t entertained the idea a hundred times since they left the house, in the bittersweetness. It’s tempting.

Awfully so.

“Not today Ramser’ika,” she forces the words out. “You’re a big boy now, and big boys walk to their class.”

His deflated “oh,” makes her chest tighten.

She forces an exuberant smile to remain plastered to her face, projecting waves of calm and equanimity onto her already placid child. Asher keeps a hold of her hand as his little steps morph into a skip, swinging his unoccupied hand along. Her thoughts drift.

Not far though, as she can inherently feel his eyes on her, on them, in the close proximity.

“You know,” she speaks aloud, “You should walk your son to class on his first day of school.”

“I’m good up here.”

It’s tempting, the urge to wave at her sniper husband from his vantage point along the nearest roof they pass. She smirks at his antics and adjusts her comm. Surely no other child in Asher’s class is being chaperoned through a rifle scope. Their poor son.

“Sure look beautiful from here, Darlin’.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Dee plays along, her smile unsteady as they reach the double doors to the preschool center. Her heart begins to race. She kneels in front of Asher. He blinks at her raptly.

“Okay Ramser’ika, you’re gonna have a great day,” she needlessly adjusts his pack, settling her hands on his shoulders and gripping just a little too tightly as she peruses him from head to toe, forcing down the lump in her throat. She’s never done this before. He’s never ever left her side.

It’s terrifying.

She cradles his sweet face as she gazes into his depthless eyes, full of love and innocence and everything she cherishes. She remembers the first time she ever gazed into them - long before he was ever born. He’s getting so big.

She pulls him to her swiftly. “I love you, Asher.”

Little hands wrap around her frame. “Love you, Momma.”

Delana’s breath hitches. She presses a kiss to his cheek. “You’ll be okay,” she breathes, more to herself than him. “My Little Sniper...”

“Give him a kiss for me.”

A single tear slides into Asher’s hair as she plants another kiss. “From Daddy.”

Crosshair materializes at her side as she watches their baby go. Off on his own. Disappearing from sight.

She immediately caves into him with a sob.

“He’ll be fine,” Crosshair hushes, stroking her back and standing resolute like the man he is. “He’s your son.”

“Your son,” Dee chokes, because Asher gets his tenacity from his father.

“Our son.” And his kind heart from his mother.

Delana chews her nails and lets Crosshair gather her to his chest, her stomach churning violently as she stares down the brightly-colored building with acute regret. “Tell me I made a mistake…”

“You didn’t,” Crosshair nuzzles her. “You never do. He’s never more safer than with you.”

“But he’s not with me—”

“Sweetheart,” his lips are achingly tender against her skin. “He’s safe.”

She’s nearly keeled over at his feet. “What if something happens to him…”

“It won’t,” Crosshair chides, lifting his eyes to higher places. “I’m always watching.”

Her blubbering turns into a laugh, and she wipes at her face. His small comforts are immeasurable. “Of course you are.”

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primergon · 3 years ago

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KINDA ANGSTY SCENARIO REQUEST: how would the tfp bots or cons (or both if you can) be at raising their child after loosing their human conjux, how would the loss affect them and the way they take care of the kid(s)? (sorry for any grammar mistakes, English is not my first language)

A/N: Thank you for sending this in Anon! Don't worry about your english, it's really good ! I'm going to the Autobots for your ask and if a lot of people enjoy this then I'll make a part two with the Decepticons! I hope that's alright <3

1. Whether it was under the influence of the matrix or not, Optimus had always wanted a sparkling. There were stories of how the matrix encourages its bearer to create life, a survival instinct crafted by the old gods to ensure that the Cybertronian race persevered. Yet even when he was still an archivist, Orion had always wanted to raise a bitlet. Therefore, even if he grieves over the loss of his conjunx, he was still the doting father. Even if Optimus was constantly torn between his responsibilities as both a leader and a father, he always seemed to make time for both. He would teach them the alphabet and read them bedtime stories, and Optimus was an expert in balancing discipline and encouragement since he used to take young soldiers under his wing. There was a familiar ache against his spark when he realizes the baby had inherited their carrier's optic colour. Whenever the sparkling cries at night, he would scoop them up in his arms gently. Cooing and rocking the little bitlet until they fall asleep. Whenever things get too difficult for Optimus, he would always look up to wonder if his conjunx is watching them. It warms his spark to know that his little sparkling will grow up just to be like their carrier. It gives him all the more reason to win this war.

2. Your death change Bumblebee. Even after the war ended and he had his voice back, it was as if the light inside him had dimmed. He turned quiet and mostly kept to himself. If it wasn't for the little sparkling you both had together, Bumblebee wouldn't have healed properly. He pushed himself to continue for your bitlet's sake, always striving to be the best father. He often seeks Optimus for advice, and when he wasn't there, Arcee and Bulkhead were more than happy to help out. Even Ultra Magnus is open to giving the Scout advice. The war sometimes makes people forget just how young Bumblebee was. He was old enough to have children of course, but he was way too young to be widowed. And so he and his sparkling learned from one another, and parenthood was a different kind of challenge for him. But the moment the baby wraps their little hand around his finger, Bumblebee knew that all the sleepless nights were worth it. He just wished you were here to see the little sparkling fall asleep against his arm.

3. Bulkhead didn't hide his grief. He would openly talk about you to his sparkling, trying to hold back tears as he remembered all the good memories you shared. He was an excellent father, even if he sometimes doubts it. Wheeljack would often remind him that he's doing amazing, even offering to babysit the bitlet while Bulkhead gets some rest. The wrecker often gets angry at the world for being unfair, for taking you away from him, from your baby. Going as far as to punch holes into the metal walls of the base. Yet, the gentle giant made sure his sparkling would never see that side of him. Always affectionate and attentive to the bitlet that reminds him so much of you. Miko would let the bitlet sit on her lap, playing with her while Bulkhead watches nearby. He often visits your grave with the baby, talking to you as if you were there to listen - and Bulkhead knows, somewhere up there, you were listening.

4. Angry. Arcee was upset, frustrated and so very angry. The world keeps on taking and taking from her. It broke her heart to know that her bitlet would grow up in such a cruel world. Yet, the moment she looks into their eyes and sees a reflection of you in them, Arcee made a promise to make sure that no hurt will ever come to her sparkling. It's funny how she used to tease June for being a helicopter mom because Arcee is no different. She's protective, sometimes too protective of the baby. Always worrying every five minutes even after Ratchet had ordered her to get some sleep. She doesn't trust anyone outside of team Prime with her child, and even if they wanted to hold the baby she would have to be close to keep watch. Jack would often watch over them, entertaining the gibberish coming out of their mouth. It warms her spark to know that even under all that loss, she still has love left inside of her. And she swore to give it all to the sparkling in her arms. Not a day goes by without her thinking of you.

5. Even if it wasn't his fault, Ratchet couldn't stop blaming himself for it. The memory of your death playing over and over again in his processor. It made him feel unworthy of the baby in his arms. He doesn't show his grief, but underneath that exterior, Ratchet was crushed. There was a multitude of emotions overwhelming him, sadness, regret, worry, anger, pain - so much pain. The hurt only goes away when the baby laughs. That gave him the push to pull himself together. Ratchet is naturally idealistic, he sets high standards for himself to cope with your absence. He became preoccupied with taking care of the baby, and if he wasn't, he was reading on how to become the ' best father.' Optimus has to constantly remind him that we cannot create the perfect parent out of a test tube. Every mistake made Ratchet feel ashamed, yet he accepted the fact that parenthood was all about learning. He wasn't religious, but Primus does the old mech feel blessed to have the baby in his arms.

6.Smokescreen still couldn't fully accept your death, stuck within this loop of bargaining and denial. It pained everyone around him to see Smokescreen so torn. The only thing that kept him grounded was the Sparkling. He loves how they remind him to stay cheerful, giving him hope even when he can barely smile. He remains optimistic for your baby's sake, knowing he still has so much to learn about being a sire. Smokescreen wasn't a perfect parent, mistakes naturally occur, but what makes him a great parent is that he tries to be better. He was maturing into a better person because of his child, achieving the best version of himself through fatherhood. Eventually, he knows he should move on from the grief, but just because Smokescreen decided to accept your death for the sake of your child doesn't mean he forgot about you. He knows that you'll always be in his spark. He wonders if you're proud of him.

7.Being a father was not something Wheeljack had predicted for himself. He had always seen himself as a lone mech, never grounded to one place. It was just heartbreaking to see that when he finally decided to build a home with you, the universe had other plans. Wheeljack guarded his emotions and kept to himself because he doesn't want to get hurt, so your death made him withdrew even more. He was angry at himself. Yet when he held the sparkling in his arms, Wheeljack realized that they needed him more than ever. He doubts he'll make a good father, but Team Prime was more than willing to help him. Bulkhead gave him a lot of pointers on how to care for the baby, even Ultra Magnus had offered some advice. Fatherhood helped him heal and at the same time, it made him realize that he still has a home. As reckless as Wheeljack was he's protective towards his baby. He only begins to cut himself some slack when Arcee compared him to Ultra Magnus. Wheeljack knew children were different from assembling ships. There was no manual. He struggled a lot, but through time and a lot of patience, he was happy to see that his sparkling grew into a mini version of himself. They remind him so much of you and Wheeljack wished you were there to see him now.

8.Ultra Magnus lives a life of fighting. Even before the war, he was already part of the military. As the leader of the Wreckers and the Autobot's second in command, Ultra Magnus has to make sure he has nothing to lose. He cannot afford any kind of liability that would hold him back. Therefore, when he lost you, he couldn't help but beat himself up for it. He feels responsible for putting you in such a dangerous position, even if your death had nothing to do with him. A common misconception is that Ultra Magnus doesn't feel, but in reality, he feels too much to the point where your death pushed him into drinking. Ultra Magnus has a hard time allowing himself grief, so once he does, he loses control for the first time in his life. The main reason he sobered up was that he knew he had a child to look after. He was attentive and observant, always providing for the sparkling whenever it cries or gets hungry. Yet, a baby is nowhere near one of his subordinates. Even if he's aware of this, he sometimes still finds himself stuck in difficult situations. The commander has a hard time asking for help, but thankfully those around him were more than willing to help out. Ultra Magnus was a strict parent. He often grows too protective of his child. The thought of losing someone after you was unbearable. However, with a little reminder here and there, Ultra Magnus had managed to raise a wonderful child. Ultra Magnus would often take a look at the holo-picture of you he keeps in his subspace and feel proud. He was happy to see that his child took after their carrier.

A/N : I hope this was what you wanted Anon <3

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qqueenofhades · 4 years ago

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Fake dating AU for the idiot Heartrender Husbands! I beg of you!

As ever, I am preposterously easy to enable, and since they will eventually make an appearance in A Phantom in Enchanting Light, I decided to write their backstory for that verse. Also, “fake dating but it’s only fake because they’re both idiots” is an Aesthetic. I love them.

Moscow, 2010

The guy is most definitely late. Fedyor got here early – probably too early, since they’re supposed to meet at eleven and he arrived by quarter past ten – but it’s now 11:08 and still no sign of him. Fedyor has claimed a corner table in the coffee shop just off Red Square with its splendid old tsarist-era décor, surrounded by the murmur of conversation and clicking laptop keys as his fellow Muscovites get on with their daily lives. The rule is fifteen minutes, yes? If Ivan Sakharov doesn’t show up in another seven, Fedyor is free to bail. But it’s been so long, and Nadia, the mutual friend responsible for this set-up, has begged Fedyor to give him a chance. And since it is understandably difficult to date as a gay man in Russia, Fedyor’s patience must be tested longer than usual. He sips his flat white and glances at the door again. Still no Ivan.

Fedyor opens his phone and checks the photo that Nadia sent him, trying to decide if this man is attractive enough to compensate for his tardiness. It’s hard to tell. It is 11:14, and he is absolutely about to pack up and leave by no later than 11:25, when a tall, grim-faced man in a red windbreaker strides in. He stops short, glances around, spots Fedyor, and powers over with such single-minded determination that Fedyor fears he’s about to be arrested. “Hello,” he says curtly. “I am Ivan Ivanovich Sakharov. I believe you are waiting for me?”

“Ah – ? I am Fedyor Mikhailovich Kaminsky, yes,” he manages, offering a hand, which Ivan crushes in a Terminator grip. “It’s – nice to meet you?”

Ivan snorts, pulls out the other chair, and drapes his jacket over it, then orders a small plain coffee (black like his soul, evidently). Then he returns, sits down, and claps his hands as if he is calling a misbehaving class to attention. “Where are you from?” he barks. “How long have you lived in Moscow?!”

Fedyor continues to gape. He’s genuinely not sure if this is Ivan attempting to get to know him on speed-run, or if he’s being interrogated by a FSB agent who can’t even act for two seconds like he’s not. It’s ominously possible. Dmitry Medvedev is the president and there are hopes that there might be a social liberalization, but the Orthodox patriarchs and the far right have been increasingly agitating against Russia’s embattled LGBTQ community, and things could just as easily get worse. Is this a setup or a setup? Nadia would never knowingly put him in a dangerous situation, of course, but maybe she was likewise fooled. You’d think that if this was a sting, they could have found a guy who was actually capable of pretending to be on a date, but maybe that’s the point? What the hell is going on here?

Fedyor opens his mouth, then shuts it. As a matter of fact, he is originally from Nizhny Novgorod, but moved to Moscow for university and has lived here for seven years, but if Ivan is with the FSB, he probably already knows that. Is this a trick? Is Ivan trying to match him to some police intelligence file or see if he’s a liar? Fedyor is seriously about to get up and walk out (or maybe sprint out) when Ivan, perhaps realizing that he’s blowing this to a heretofore unprecedented degree, says, “Sorry. I am from Krasnoyarsk. I enjoy rugby.”

Of course he likes rugby if he’s from Krasnoyarsk. This is a disaster. “Uh, what side?”

“Krasny Yar,” says Ivan, in the tone of a man about to stand up and belt out the fight song. “I also enjoy football. Yenisey Krasnoyarsk. Though I have begun supporting Lokomotiv since I came to Moscow. That was five years ago.”

So, he’s definitely a hooligan. Fedyor does his best to keep smiling. In the flesh, Ivan is definitely not unattractive. His hair is crisp and brown, there are glints of hazel in his eyes, and he has that hard, chiseled handsomeness that Fedyor always ends up getting suckered into. Except for the fact that he is lively, extroverted, and outgoing, likes clubbing and mingling and making friends, and this man does not appear to have ever heard of a single one of those things. What was Nadia thinking? It’s not like her to whiff this badly. Or did she have to be so circumspect in asking Ivan if he would like to meet Fedyor that, even if he’s not an undercover cop, he is in fact clueless about the true nature of this social engagement? Thinks it’s guys being pals?

“Did you have somewhere you were coming from earlier?” Fedyor asks, after another excruciating silence. “Is that why you were – ?”

“My apologies. The bus was late. I am normally very punctual.” Ivan scowls ferociously, as if the bus ever dares to do such a thing again, he will personally murder it. “What hobbies do you enjoy, Fedyor Mikhailovich?”

“I think you can call me Fedyor, yes?” They are clearly nowhere near “Fedya” and “Vanya” just yet, but “Fedyor Mikhailovich” always makes Fedyor look around warily for his grumpiest professor at MSU. He tries to think of subtle conversational gambits to find out what Ivan knows, without being obvious. Oh God, he really should just cut his losses, but something – perhaps the pathetic conviction that even a terrible date is better than no date at all – keeps him in his seat. Presuming that he does get out of here alive, he will call up Nadia straightaway and ask her many, many questions, mostly consisting of Why??! “Well,” Fedyor says at last. “I like having fun?”

“I also enjoy fun,” Ivan says, stone-faced. “I am very funny.”

Russian humor is normally extremely deadpan, to the point that Fedyor does wonder if Ivan is in fact a diabolical troll genius, but somehow he doesn’t think so. The rest of the conversation proceeds in this fashion, but by the end of an hour, Fedyor still has no idea if he has just been on a date or a trip to the gulag. Ivan gets up, administers another bone-crushing handshake, thanks him for his time, and marches out. Fedyor can practically hear the Red Army Choir thundering some patriotic anthem in his wake.

When he gets home that afternoon, Fedyor is resolved to write off the whole thing, except it was weirdly kind of not as bad as he first thought, maybe, somehow. If nothing else, he’s fascinated by this, like watching a slow-motion train crash. He takes out his phone with the intention of calling Nadia, only to see a text message from an unfamiliar number. When he opens it, it reads, Hello. Your company was agreeable today. Thank you. Perhaps we could meet again next week. Please reply yes or no. The message uses the formal styles of address, and some of the spellings are slightly old-fashioned. He has also signed it – Иван Сахаро�� – in case there might be some confusion with another Ivan the Terrible at Dating of Fedyor’s recent acquaintance. It is a bit like getting a text from the undertaker.

Fedyor stares at it, insanely tempted to burst out laughing, and finally, just because now he’s too curious to refuse, texts back his gracious acceptance. Still chuckling, he makes dinner, and then, as his phone pings with Ivan’s response, wonders in horror what on earth he is getting himself into.

This is how things continue for the next six weeks. Ivan and Fedyor meet up for the second time, stroll sedately around one of Moscow’s many city parks together, then part ways, and this time it’s Fedyor’s turn to ask if he would like to do it again. He isn’t sure exactly why, except that Ivan is unexpectedly easy to spend time with, and he nods in stoic approval of whatever Fedyor says. Of course, they follow the usual rules of dating which are especially important in Russia: don’t talk about politics, don’t talk about religion, don’t talk about America, don’t talk about Ukraine, don’t talk about Chechnya. From what Fedyor can glean, Ivan’s views tend to the doctrinaire, but he is surprisingly undogmatic, and willing to at least act as if he has an open mind. If he was an FSB agent, it feels like he would have busted Fedyor by now, but maybe he is waiting for him to do something unmistakably gay. That’s not it. Right?

Nadia calls, wanting to know how it’s going, and Fedyor grills her for forty minutes over whether Ivan is a law enforcement plant, a lonely guy looking for a friend, the world’s most method practical joker, or just extremely stupid. Nadia insists that he is actually very nice once you get to know him (HA, thinks Fedyor) and has no particular affection for either the ruling classes or the oligarchs. He can certainly be an acquired taste, but he is not evil.

Forced to accept it, still chickening out of asking Ivan whether he knows they’re dating, wondering if they are dating, if Ivan knows that Fedyor knows they’re dating, if Fedyor only thinks he knows that they are dating while they are not actually dating, or if Ivan thinks he knows that they’re dating while they’re… whatever the fresh-fried fuck is truly happening here, Fedyor trudges off for what has become his almost-weekly rendezvous with Ivan the-Maybe-Not-Quite-So-Terrible. They manage to have a few conversations verging on meaningful, and Fedyor has found himself telling Ivan about his family and Nizhny Novgorod and other such things. Fedyor likes to talk and Ivan likes to listen, though he breaks in now and again with a bone-dry quip. He’s still never what you would call loquacious, or easily forthcoming, but Fedyor likes that. Ivan is tough, complex, enigmatic, guarded, occasionally willing to let down his walls but only if the other person is worth it, and Fedyor finds, to his surprise, that he wants to be worth it. If this is a long-con mind game, he almost doesn’t care. (Almost.)

The problem, however, is that they’ve been seeing each other regularly for a month and a half and they haven’t gotten any closer than walking through a park, outdoors, in full view of their fellow comrades. Even the first time Fedyor takes the plunge and invites Ivan to his apartment, they sit three feet apart on the couch, watching a badly-Russian-subtitled version of Die Hard and providing critical commentary. Fedyor’s English is a lot more fluent than Ivan’s, and his middle-class family, while not exactly wealthy, is definitely better off than Ivan’s hardscrabble clan of miners and loggers in Siberia. That upbringing certainly does explain, to some degree, why Ivan is the way he is, and Fedyor wonders anxiously if Ivan views him as an insufferably posh city boy. Ivan barely finished high school and went straight to working in a Krasnoyarsk aluminum factory. He definitely did not faff around Moscow State University and attend global development seminars in Paris.

Nonetheless, despite their obvious differences, they do get along, and Fedyor is unable to deny the fact that he would, if it’s all right with everyone, like it to be more than that. Of course, finding out if Ivan knows, etc. etc., has been the paramount challenge, and there is no way to find out other than to go for it. Fedyor is 75% sure that they’ve been going steady for two months, but if it’s actually the other 25%, this is going to get awkward in a hurry. Is this essentially a fake relationship, or is it only fake because they’re both idiots?

After having duly commended his soul to God, Fedyor invites Ivan over on Saturday night. He rents a tiny flat by himself since he’s been burned on rooming with strangers, but Ivan is used to it by now, and it doesn’t feel too small with the two of them. Fedyor strains his limited culinary skills to cook supper, probably making his babushka cluck her tongue and sigh in a judgmental fashion back in Nizhny Novgorod, and they sit down and eat in silence for five minutes. Then Fedyor says, “Vanya?”

The consistent use of the diminutive has started sometime in the last few weeks, neither of them remember quite when. Ivan doesn’t correct him. “Yes?”

Fedyor clears his throat. “Do you…” He winces. “Do you… like me?”

“Yes?” Ivan says again, looking confused. “I would not have spent so much time with you if I did not, don’t you think? We are friends.”

“Yes, I know that we’re friends, but…” Fedyor looks at the ceiling. It doesn’t help, so he looks back at Ivan. “Are we… special friends?”

Ivan continues to look blank. “Are we?”

Fedyor resists the urge to tug at his collar, thinking that it’s a damn good thing that he didn’t go with his other idea of just leaning across the table and passionately kissing him. With absolutely no change of tone or expression, Ivan says, “Please explain. Special friends how?”

“Friends who want to…” Fedyor takes a deep breath. “Be… more than friends?”

“How?” Ivan orders again, ruthlessly. “Be clear, Fedya.”

“Are we maybe… boyfriends?” Fedyor’s voice squeaks on the word. “As in… we have feelings for each other that aren’t just… friendly? Like… feelings which are… romantic?”

Ivan continues to stare at him like a statue for several more seconds, and Fedyor contemplates the feasibility of tunneling directly through the floor of his apartment and running all the way to Latvia. Then at last, Ivan throws his head back and – startling Fedyor deeply – breaks into real, genuine, belly laughter, the kind that he has never heard from Ivan before. “Oh my,” he chortles, slapping the table. “Your face. You were sweating bullets.”

“WAIT, WHAT!?!” Fedyor pushes his chair back and stands up with a clatter, incandescently outraged. “Are you – were you messing with me?!!”

“Maybe a little,” Ivan says, wiping his eyes. “You know, all this time, I have not been sure if you are shy or a terrible prude. Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

“God’s Mother in Heaven – ” Fedyor feels another prick of disloyalty to his babushka for swearing on the Bogomater, but some people deserve it. All inhibitions forgotten, he charges at Ivan like a runaway train, as Ivan springs out of his own chair in readiness, and starts pounding on his chest in transports of fury. “You are the worst! You are the worst person ever! For two months, what have we been doing?! I have been afraid this whole time that maybe you don’t know what’s really going on, and now – ?! You are the worst!”

Ivan catches Fedyor’s flailing arms, holds them away from him, and picks him up bodily, swinging him around and pushing him against the wall. “Maybe I am just a dumb country boy from Siberia,” he remarks, “but even I am not that stupid, Fedyor Mikhailovich.”

“I hate you,” Fedyor pants, their faces and their mouths an inch away from each other. “Get out of my apartment.”

“Mmm?” Ivan cocks an eyebrow. Then he plants both hands on either side of Fedyor’s head, leans in, and deeply, savagely captures Fedyor’s mouth with his own.

Every remaining vestige of barely rational thought in Fedyor’s head evaporates in screaming shock. He still wants to shove Ivan away, knee him in the balls, or break a chair over his head, but if he did that, he would have to stop kissing him, and he can’t do that either. He moans, Ivan’s tongue takes the opportunity to slip into his mouth, their hands clutch and claw and their legs melt out from under them, they turn away or break contact only to gulp a breath before diving back in again, and the next time Fedyor is aware of anything, they have collapsed on his kitchen floor in a wrung-out, entangled, gasping heap. Ivan says in his ear, “Do you still want me to leave, Fedya?”

“No,” Fedyor manages. “Because now, I am really going to make you suffer.”

Ivan’s smile is dark and full of promise. He pulls back, gets to his feet, and holds out a hand. “Then I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

(Ivan doesn’t leave Fedyor’s apartment that night. He doesn’t leave it the next night either. At the end of the week, Fedyor calls up Nadia and informs her that he hates her so much, and when they do next see each other, he’ll shake her by both shoulders and then thank her for introducing him to the no-good, truly awful, very bad love of his life.)

#ivan x fedyor #heartrender husbands #henchmen deserve happiness too okay #a phantom in enchanting light #mearcatsreturns #ask #fivan ff

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heyitsyn · 4 years ago

Text

Manager!Seijoh KYO ROUTE

a/n: AAAAA HERE IT FINALLY IS!!!!! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!!!!

THIS IS KYO’S ROUTE AND TBH, I REALLY WANT TO MAKE AN IWA ROUTE BUT I ALSO WANT TO MAKE AN OIKAWA ROUTE BC IT HAS BEEN BROUGHT TO MY ATTENTION THAT SOMEONE’S FAVORITE IS ACTUALLY OIKS AND I WANT TO GIVE HER THAT ENDING AND I WANT IWA TO HAVE AN ENDING AS A PERSONAL REQUEST HEHEHEHEHEHE

REMINDER, THIS IS A WHAT IF SCENARIO LIKE WHAT IF SHE ENDS UP WITH KYO AND HOW WOULD IT HAPPEN SO THIS IS NOT REALLY GOING TO BE PART OF THE MAIN MANAGER!SEIJOH SERIES

anon requests:

-i love the seijoh manager one and i was just wondering if i could please request one where she ends up with kyoken

-OH MY GOD Can y/n-chan and kyoubabie end up together and like how would the team react wawlndksndkfnkdndkfnkd im so soft

-I kinda like the idea after the time skip that Kyo and the manager end up together, he's still such a softie for her. I feel like after seeing how Kyo acts around her the team wasn't surprised that they ended up together and kinda expected it.

- what if manager reader and Kyotani kiss 😳👉👈

- hi I love your seijoh manager aus! They’re so cute and wholesome but also very chaotic 😭 I have a request,, if yn and kyo end up together then can you do a scenario where the boys find out and are like 👁👄👁 huh, u choose the dog?? NDJJS IDK KYO IS SO UNDERRATED BUT N E WAYS ILY AND YOUR SERIES YOURE SO TALENTED 😭💕

i totally not already planned this part from the last part

tw: hint of abuse

ALSKDFJASDKJAFKLDSJFLKA HINATA SAID NYOOM

so,,, yep lets start

hehehehehehehe kyo is so protective like bls be mine

even though miyo has been expelled and doesnt mess w you anymore, he still looks out for you and makes sure no one messed w you

like he actually goes to the first floor immediately and leans on the wall outside your class so he could walk with you to the gym or to lunch

at first, you thought it was bc oikawa told him to look out for you but when you found out it was competely all him, you were so soft for him and appreciative at him taking the time to go to you

like one day after class, you were planning on just eating lunch inside the classroom with kunimi and kindaichi but you were thirsty and felt stuffed in the room so you excused yourself to go eat at the roof

as you opened the door, you came face-to-face with the blonde upperclassman and you were so shocked that you closed the door on impulse

you said haha not today satan

but you realized who he was and hurriedly opened it

‘ohmagod im so sorry kyo-san!’

he shrugged

‘its fine’

you smiled apologetically and cleared your throat

‘so,,, what can i do for you, kyo-san?’

he shoved his hands in his pockets bc in truth, he didnt really know, but he caught sight of your bento on your hands

‘the roof?’

he asked making you look at him, impressed

‘howd you know?’

‘if youre not eating in there, the roof would be the only other place youd eat, right?’

you leaned against the doorway and reached forward to rub his arm

‘you stalking me now, kyo-san?’

he narrowed his eyes and looked away

but he grabbed your hand before interlacing your fingers and you were shocked to be dragged with him to somewhere in the school

‘the roof’

was all he said and you quickly kept up to pace with him until you arrived your destination at the top of the school

it was quite a cloudy day so the sun was actually out of view but it wasnt going to be a rainy day

the temperature was slowly getting colder since you were now transitioning from fall to winter but you didnt care bc it was still fresh air

you hurriedly tugged him forward and sat him down next to you so you both were seated together

‘do you not eat lunch kyo-san?’

‘no. i dont have time’

he pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them while you laid your legs on a straight line in front of you so you could rest the box on your lap

kyo laid his cheek on his arm as he watched you excitedly unwrap the cloth and open the mint-green lid to reveal the rice and tamagoyaki with chicken bites inside

‘itadakimasu!’

you softly clapped your hands then positioned your chopsticks but you paused, head turning to kyo

he felt like he was caught stealing something lmao stealing glances get it so he quickly averted his gaze to the railing that surrounded the roof

you delicately placed a hand on his arm which gave you his attention and you raised a piece of the egg dish

‘one?’

you offered and he shook his head but you pouted at him making him sigh then open his mouth

now you were no gorgon ramsai im cackling sorry but you could cook since your mother believed that you werent a girl unless you knew how to cook

his eyes were shining as he chewed and you giggled before holding up another piece which he quickly snatched up

‘ill bring you your own bento tomorrow kyo-san~!’

and you did

the next day, you waited for him at your class and when you caught sight of him walking from your class window, you bounced up in your seat, startling kindaichi from eating his noodles

‘y/n?’

kunimi questioned but you werent even looking at him

‘ill see you later, aki!’

you waved and opened the door to go to kyo, who lowkey got scared when you just ran up to him

he raised his hand to ruffle your hair and you got closer to him and held out the blue box

‘here. as promised’

he held the box and stared at it, like it was the first time someone gave him this

you took his surprise as gratitude and grabbed his hand, swinging it as you talked about your lessons on your way to the roof

when he opened it, he lifted the first container and saw what was hiding at the very bottom shelf

it was a serving of famima chicken with its wrapper stil intact

‘how-’

‘saw you eating it when you first joined the team. then i started noticing you eating it whenever we go to the convenience store’

the fact that you were so perceptive towards him brought an unfamiliar feeling inside him that made his heart thump and stomach to tickle

‘dont worry, kyo-san! i made sure everything was good!’

your eyes closed due to the intensity of your grin and you raised a thumbs up to prove your word further

he blinked at you and truly thought you were an angel

an angel sent down to help a lost hope like him?

was that you?

were you his angel?

during practice, he was actually very calm and collected and wasnt pushing anyone at all which surprised everyone

iwaizumi even stared at him confusingly and if iwa was looking at him like that, the entire team knew something was up

‘oi, kyotani, you good? you sick?’

rip 2020 would like to know your location

the fake blonde turned to him and shook his head, face free of any glare or irritation

in fact, he looked like a completely different person if not for the hair

‘im good’

he answered

‘did they have a buy one get one sale on that chicken of yours?’

oikawa tested

if he answered him, something was definitely wrong

‘no. i dont think so’

yep, something was wrong

oikawa was screaming and shouting that the world was going to end while the others were laughing, panicking, and worrying while iwa just stood there, staring at his underclassman

you returned from filling up the bottles and was confused at the state of the team

‘i-um-what happened’

kyo’s ears perked up at your voice and he bounded up to you like a doggie seeing its owner come home

you smiled and reached up to place a hand on his shoulder with ease bc he was one of the shorter players therefore easier to reach

‘did oikawa-san break again?’

you asked and he nodded

‘hes being an idiot’

he mumbled

‘hes just being oikawa-san, kyo-san. you still have to respect him as your captain, remember that’

you said and he rolled his eyes but nodded anyways

‘fine. only because you said so’

iwa was watching this interaction with very wide eyes and his confusion only grew like 10 million times

kyotani kentarou never answered to anyone and if he did, that must be earned

as far as iwa knew, kyo was just so soft to you and treats you so different than the 7.8 billion people in the world

no person in the world could ever get kyo to act like that except you

and there had to be a reason

and iwa was pretty sure he knew

after practice, you were scheduled to look after the cats in shinsou’s house so you were going to walk with kyo

he was impatiently waiting for oikawa to finish talking to you until his patience just snapped and he grabbed you and lifted you up to his arms then just started walking, surprising everyone in silence

you instinctually wrapped your legs around him and held on to his shoulders tightly while his arms were bounded around your waist

‘OI! KYOKEN-CHAN! HOW DARE YOU STEAL Y/N-CHAN!’

oikawa was punching the air

you placed your cheek on his shoulder and let out a breathy chuckle

‘you couldnt wait for another second, kyo-san?’

‘the trash was starting to reek’

you laughed and grimaced at the laughter that bubbled out of you

‘so mean, kyo-san!’

your laughter made him subconsciously smile and he held you closer, placing his chin on your shoulder as he continued on the trek to the familiar purple house

once you did arrive though, kyo refused to let your hand go

ope reference?

‘kyoooooo~! cmon! let me gooo~!’

‘no’

he grumbled and continued to hold your hand tighter as you tried to tug it free so you could walk up the gates to your employer

‘i need to work~! pleeeease~!’

you whined but he scrunched his nose in distate, pulling your hand forward so you stumbled into his chest where he wrapped both arms to cage you in

‘no. i dont want you with that grape head’

he growled lowly making you laugh and you turned so your ear would be right above his heart

it was beating fast

his scent travelled up your nose and you closed your eyes, snuggling even further

cherry blossoms and vanilla with the slightest hint of sandalwood

‘i need to go’

you mumbled but he gripped your tighter

‘stay with me’

he whispered

tbh you wouldve if literally hizashi-san didnt catch you at the front of his house cuddling

it was quite an embarrassing encouter when he wouldnt stop talking about it and you had to actually push him and aizawa out the door

‘we were really rooting for hitoshi but do what makes you happy, dear!’

‘hizashi-san, please!’

you werent really aware of how clingy kyoken was and it only caught your attention when during one of your lunch (dates), he clinging on to you

your position has now shifted so you were sitting between his legs while you fed him food and he would rest his chin on your shoulder to watch the clouds and sky

‘kyo-san, did something happen? youre clingier than usual’

he shook his head and buried his face in your neck

‘allergies’

he whispered and you leaned your head on top of his, continuing on eating your food

‘hey, kyo-san, do you think it will snow soon? we’re getting into december already so it would snow soon, right?’

you asked and he emerged from his spot

‘i hope so. that would be nice. we need a little more snow now and then’

im SCREAMING RIGHT NOW AND TEARS ARE WELLING UP IN MY EYES HELP-

‘yea. yea. when it falls, i want to go out and stand in it. if we’re lucky, we could have a snowball fight up here. whaddya think, kyo-san?’

pls dont blast at me with the timeline bc tbh my timeline is so messed up and if i was to fix that, id basically have to scrap this entire series bc of how messy with the timeline it is

‘yea. we will’

he hugged you tighter that day

when he didnt show up for practice, you were frantically looking for him

did he skip?

you knew how he struggled not being able to play with the others and missing this opportunity wasnt something he would do

and you were worried where he was and he might be hurt somewhere

you ran out of the gym and out of the school grounds, running through the alleys and any secluded area bc he mustve had a bad day and wanted to get away

indeed, you found him in the alleyway and you were horrified at his bloodied face and ruffled clothing

he was seated on the floor, head leaning against the wall with his eyes closed, even oblivious to the dogs and cats that were worriedly nudging him

‘kyo-san!’

you shrieked and his eyes flew open and he quickly stood up to run but you were quicker and restrained him with your arms around his middle

it was so bad

his foster family,,,, everything was such a mess

he trembled in your arms and you felt his fear, his terror, and you gently, but firmly, held him so you could look at his face

he was staring at the floor angrily, tears welling up in his eyes and you shakingly placed a hand on his cheek, bringing it down so he could rest his forehead against yours

assuring words would fall deaf to his ears so you didnt even bother

instead, you tried to hold his hand, ignoring the flinching, but gently held it and brought it up to rest on top of where your heart would be

his eyes closed and your forehead nuzzled against his

‘feel my heartbeat. recognize me, as it beats for you’

you whispered to him, his other hand shakingly touching the hand that was on his face so he could caress it and he moved his head, placing a kiss on your palm

‘its beating for kenta-kun,, no foster family, no volleyball team, nobody else and nothing else matters but my heartbeat, so focus on it. because this is everything i could give you so treasure it, please’

you whispered, your own tears falling, hurting for your love

okay im full sobbing

‘and the snow. it will snow soon and you and i,,, we will go outside and we will play in the snow. the world will turn white but your colors will still paint my sight. let my heartbeat be your colors and let me color your canvas during the snow, kyo-san. it will beat for you, and only you, for as long as you let it. your heartbeat has painted mine already and its the most beautiful colors ive ever seen’

he cried for the first time that day, not in pain or sadness, but in happiness, because he can finally see it

your love and your colors starting to brighten the black and red hes grown accustomed to and helping him see, indeed, the world was beautiful

but it was truly your colors that made him realize that

kyotani and you stayed in that position for a long time and yahaba, who went after you, saw and quickly ran back to the gym to assure that you were alright and kyotani was safe, in your arms

after the natsu fiasco, he was a frequent visitor in your house and your family gets the gist of yanno, his home life, and your mother even gave him the spare key of the house

‘if y/n-chan trusts you, i do too’

yall what 😭

at night, you would lay out at the backyard, laying side-by-side and pointing at the stars and making up stupid stories as to why that star was brighter than the other or why the moon was built like that

but kyo was more focused, much happier, that he can see everything so much clearer and better

he turned his gaze from the stars to you beside him, your hair spreading out beneath you and your eyes sometimes disapperaing when you would laugh too hard

‘i wonder why the night sky is blue instead of black like the universe’

you wondered out loud but kyotani whispered something you didnt think youd ever hear from him

‘because you let me paint everything with my colors and i refuse to let you see something that i suffered seeing my entire life’

you returned his gaze and this was the real kyotani kentaro

not kyoken,

not kenta-kun

kyotani kentaro

and my god was he beautiful

he kissed you that night

it wasnt anything lustful, nothing aggressive, but not exactly gentle

it was a perfect balance of need yet hesitance that made it so much more powerful and important because it relayed the unspoken words that he had the hardest time letting out

and that was okay with you

kyo’s eyes and touch said everything he wanted to say

there was no one in sight, no body to judge the violent boy and the kind girl, just you and him with the man in the moon, gently smiling that the so-called lost cause finally found his redemption

okay that serious and sad stuff is finally out of the way and no more crying this time so dont be sad anymore :(

your relationship was never something you flaunted around or bragged about bc you and kyo were pretty private people so nobody really knew bc kyo still acted the way he would when oikawa would flirt you but yahaba noticed

oh lordie he noticed

he noticed kyo was much angrier when oikawa does his antics and he would stick closer to you, exchanging bashful smiles with you

the team only noticed when you seemed to just glow

like not like a glowstick

but like your,,, aura,,,

you laughed more, you smiled more, you teased everyone more

you were so,,, you

they had a hunch that something happened between you and kyo but they were never really sure

but ehehehe they confirmed it alright

the third years: mattsun, makki, iwa, and oiks were walking down the hallway when again, someone peaked out the window and saw you and kyo by the shade and you were perfectly angled so they could see the two of you

you were pressed against the wall while kyo was hovering over you with an arm beside your head while his hand was caressing your hip

makki let out a chortled scream that caught the attention of the others and he pointed at you two wordlessly

omg WAS KYOTANI SMILING

they watched as kyo smiled then teased you by kissing your nose, then your cheeks

‘kyo, kiss me right!’

you whined but giggled

kyotani had a teasing smirk but continued kissing you everywhere but where you wanted

‘hm? here? or here?’

right below your ear was your ticklish spot and he knew that so his kisses there tickled you and sent you on a giggling spree

‘kyo~~~!’

finally, he relented and gave you a sweet, yet passionate kiss that always managed to leave you breathless

that was when oikawa went on a rampage

well, he waited until classes were over but during practice, oh girl he went on a rampage

‘Y/N, KYOTANI!’

everyone knew he was serious when he didnt call them with those ridiculous nicknames

ngl you were scared too but kyo just glared at him

‘what’

he grumbled but you instinctively placed a hand on his arm

‘are you dating now, y/n, kyotani?’

iwa gently asked but oikawa was being oikawa

oikawa glared at you then pouted

‘OUT OF EVERYONE HERE, YOU CHOOSE THE DOG?!’

everyone gave each other nervous looks bc they kinda expected this but oikawa asking it like that made them sweat

they expected kyo to blow up but it was you who glared at oikawa, standing protectively in front of kyo

‘and what about it?’

you hissed and oikawa jumped, a hand over his heart

‘REALLY, Y/N-CHAN?! HIM?!’

‘yea and whats the problem with it? how is it your business? why do i need to validate my feelings for him? who do you think you are?’

oml kyo had to drag you out of there bc you were seriously about to fight oikawa for even having the NERVE to say that to you

like kyo held you up with his arms under your armpits as you were kicking the air and wanting to go back in there

‘no! let me go! kyo! i will hit him! come on! baby please!’

you whined and continued kicking

as much as kyo wanted to see you violently hit oikawa, he knew you would feel bad about it later and be guilty for hurting your captain

‘puppy, please. youre too angry right now and i will not sit there and listen to you whine and be sad that you hit oikawa tonight’

you hmphed and crossed your arms

he finally set you down but he wrapped his arms around you from behind and he placed a kiss on your cheek

‘but im really happy though. im really happy that you would fight for me’

but you stayed mad, pouting and looking away with your arms crossed

it was a cute sight honestly

‘of course i would. i would fight anyone who says stuff about you because i love you’

you ranted, just realizing what you said when you finished

no one has exactly said the ‘L’ word yet so you were partly scared that you said it

but kyo laughed then kissed your neck affectionately

‘i love you too, but my puppy is a nice, gentle, kind, little angel’

every compliment earned you a kiss and your tough and angry act finally slipped and you were giggling in his arms

‘yanno, if someone were to see you like this, they would think youre an impostor’

you commented in between giving him little pecks

he shrugged

‘meh. i dont care. i have you so i dont really care what they say about me. but now about you on the other hand-’

you slapped him on the chest

‘you hypocrite! youd fight someone for me but not me fighting someone for you?! how mean!’

you faked a look of surprise but he silenced you with a last kiss

‘youre so cute, y/n. my baby’

the team was a little bit in shambles while you two were away with the third years basically crying and pouting but they really did see this coming so no one was genuinely surprised, even oikawa

‘she really picked him, huh?’

iwa mumbled, a sad smile on his face as if he was just realizing it now

it was something they shouldve easily seen coming and accepted as kyo was so different around you and you treated him so much more than the rest

but why did it hurt so much?

as i mentioned before, they were all really hurting though because in a way, you were their first love

but they wish you to be happy and for kyotani to treat you right because you deserved the universe and more

TIME SKIP!!!!

OH YES I LOVE THIS!!!!

so basically, from my estimation, the timeskip is about 9 years after the third years graduate

so you are like 25 while kyo is 26

lets say you got a job as an editor alongside some guy named akaashi keiji while kyo was still playing volleyball

you got,,,, married quite early like tanaka and kiyoko and you have some minis running around

god decided to give you twins as children like a year after yall wed and currently, you were,,,, having another one??

ehehehe this part made my heart balloon up

imma make it so that kyo actually went to see the olympics with you and your kids are like 3 and theyre actually volleyball fans due to the influence of their uncles and father and partly you

it was easy to get tickets bc iwa literally works for the team and tooru is literally a player and they really wanted to see their godchildren

ngl the team was salty bc you picked them two as godfathers but next time, theyre making you pick out of a hat for your future child

so here you were, each parent carrying a child, lets say the girl is naomi while the boy is naoki, and the girl was wearing a mini argentina oikawa jersey that he specially got for his goddaughter while iwa got naoki a mini kageyama jersey just to spite oikawa

they each were wiggling in excitement to see their uncles and omg imma switch it again that the whole seijoh team is literally there like the og gang is there and watching the olympics

naoki and naomi were excitedly looking around at the unfamiliar faces and kyo was laughing when naomi tugged his collar when she saw her godfather’s picture upclose

‘papa! its kawa! kawa!’

she giggled and he ruffled her mini pigtails

‘it is, isnt it, mimi-chan’

while your son was calmly in your arms, you watched your husband and child interact with each other and her giggling as he tickled her nose

‘y/n-chan! kyoken!’

a familiar shout from only one person made you turn and see oikawa with the others at the back

of course he was huddled in a jacket to not attract attention but the og seijoh volleyball team was back together after so many years apart

‘kawa! hi!!’

naomi wiggled and she told her dad to let her down so she could run up to oikawa who was a few feet away

naoki also caught sight of his idol and you let him run after his sister but crash into the strong arms of iwaizumi

‘hello zumi’

naoki mumbled

‘hey little man! how are you?’

you gave everyone hugs and went to go to a restaurnt nearby to be away from the chaos of the people and kyo could tell you were getting tired standing

he helped you sit on a chair but you kept on grumbling to him

‘kenta, ive been pregnant before, with two! im fine, okay? so stop worrying’

kyo scrunched his nose but flicked your forehead

‘of course i have to worry. you have a literal human being inside of you’

‘well-’

but he used his hand to scrunch your cheeks to prevent you from speaking

‘what? hm, what was it, doll?’

the team gagged

‘seriously! we suffered 3 years of this already! stop it!!’

kindaichi whined

you stuck your tongue out at him and everyone got settled on their seats before ordering their food

the children were being entertained by the others and you were giggling at the antics of your friends

‘honestly, you all are nearly 30 yet you still act like children’

you scolded but had a smile on your lips to show you were actually teasing

‘and you act like youre 50 just because youre married with kids’

kunimi countered with his tongue out

you gasped before trying to reach over the table and snatch the tongue out of his mouth

‘come here you litte-’

but kyo gently sat you back down with a stiff smile

‘baby, doll, darling, love, i swear you forget youre not 18 anymore. please youre gonna send your husband to an early grave if you keep acting like this’

he whined, fake crying and the team was so shocked to see him still acting like this

‘oh my god, y/n-chan, how did you ever get kyoken-chan to be like this? did you brainwash him?’

oikawa mumbled

‘papa dont cry’

naoki tried to reach over the table from iwa’s arms to his father who he thought was really crying

yahaba shook watari in cuteness and mattsun turned to makki

‘can we get one?’

makki scoffed and hit him but still laughed

‘papa is worried that mama will hurt your baby brother, nao-kun’

kindaichi choked on his drink while oikawa screeched, holding naomi tighter

‘BROTHER?! ITS A BOY?!’

the guests in the restaurant were startled by the shriek from the argentina player and you gave kyotani a betrayed look

‘urusai, oikawa!’

kyotani snarled, face turning red at his blunder

‘CAN I BE GODFATHER THIS TIME?!’

‘YAHABA YOU IDIOT! ITS ME!’

‘WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?! YOU SHUT UP MATSUKAWA! ITS ME!’

‘OIKAWA YOU GREEDY LITTLE BIT-!’

‘SHUT UP OR I SWEAR TO GOD!’

you slammed your hands on the table, on your feet and glaring down at the men

naoki and naomi were already used to their mother yelling at uncle mattsun and uncle makki so they were snickering at their uncles terrified face

‘mama, they scared’

naoki commented, fiddling with iwa’s jacket zipper

‘its like y/n-chan and kyoken-chan switched personalities or something’

oikawa muttered, still looking wide-eyed at you

‘that’s it. kenta, hold my purse-!’

‘BABY, WHAT-!’

oh my god it was a sight to see

you have this <6 feet professional olympic volleyball player being hit by a pregnant short woman with her shoe and a bleach-blonde man trying to hold her hands so she alternated to kicking

‘y/n-chan! wait!’

‘nearly a decade later and 2 children later, y/n-chan still knows how to hit’

watari watched with a fond smile, reminiscing their old volleyball times

‘will y/n-chan be okay?’

yahaba worriedly asked but naomi gave him a smile that was a copy/paste of her father’s

‘no, uncle baba. its if kawa would be okay’

while everyone else laughed,

oikawa screamed

AND THATS A WRAP! if its not what you guys wanted, not gonna lie, i was even hesitant to write this part because as much as i love kyo, hes quite a hard character to understand and write for, but i didnt want him to be the typical brute caveman child, instead i wanted this to be like him showcasing that hes not just a screaming man but hes a scared boy whos awkward and doesnt know how to express himself. also, its not canon in the manga or the anime, but i put that he was in the foster system and they werent,,, nice,,,, so thats why he knew first aid bc he had to do it on himself and why he was so calm about her getting hurt and treating her. but thank you for reading this one and im about to write an iwa and an oikawa so expect that in the future!!!

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anika-ann · 4 years ago

Text

Attached: Hurtful Words Pt.3

Type: (mini)-series, Modern-college-professor AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 6420 + 280 (you’ll see)

Summary: Graduation day, yay! Says no one, ever.

Except for Penny, who practically drags you to enjoy one of the most important days of your lives. You go along, just because. Hell, who knows - maybe you’ll like it in the end.

A/N: Attached: Hurtful Words is an addition that loosely followes the Attached series. You don’t necessarily need to read the mini-series as a whole, but you will understand much better.

Warnings: mentions of name calling and humiliation,swearing, some angst and lots of talking and maybe... ;)

Story masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

You had been through several phases of dealing with what happened and they came and went and came and went, one blending into another, other times changing so sharply and quickly as if you flipped a metaphorical switch.

But what stayed for the majority of the time was that you simply had no idea what should you do.

One moment, you were certain that this was a sign from above telling you to break things off with Steve, because no matter the beautiful moments you had shared, continuing the relationship was an epitome of asking for more trouble and even though you had never met a guy so close to your dream man, you wondered if it was worth it.

The next minute, you mentally yelled at yourself and called yourself a dumb ungrateful bitch, convinced that this was in fact a trial, an ordeal by fire; a test you had to pass so your relationship came out stronger from it. Your faith was rock-solid that Steve was it, because after all, he was the closest guy to your dream man that you had ever met.

Your emotions were bubbling, the order of stages of grief all messed up, a mixture of self-pity, anger, resignation, denial---shame.

And shame seemed to be a theme that stuck, because the longer you were stalling and leaving Steve’s kind supportive and pleading messages without reply, the worse you felt, ashamed to reach out now, after such a long and pointed silence. Because Steve hadn’t relented, keeping in touch and very obviously staying convinced that you two could push through; the stark contrast of your doubts and his unshakable belief was breaking both your heart and mind.

How did you even deserve him? He stood by your side, at least as much as he could… while his name was in the poem too and he was probably dealing with so much shit right now and yet he didn’t cease reaching out while you left him in a lurch and really, you must have been the worst girlfriend ever.

If you even still were a girlfriend… though Steve appeared to still consider you one and it was making you want to tear your hair out, frustrated with your own stupid overthinking ass.

Penny, bless her, was there the whole time, loyal by your side instead of drinking herself into oblivion in a celebration of her bachelor degree. She was there as well when you received a text yesterday morning, followed by longer-than-usual silence.

I know this has little chance of reaching you, but know this: say the word and I will leave you alone to the point of not going to the ceremony at all despite my presence being formally half-required. Or I’ll be there and stay away. Anything you want, anything that helps you to enjoy your special day. You deserve to celebrate such a great success and I’d hate to be the reason for you to miss out on a memory that will last a lifetime. You deserve the world, sweetheart; and if you don’t want to me to be the one who gives it to you, I’ll have to accept it. Congratulation.

The text had to be split into three separate units, but the message was clear and you had a good thorough cry at it, your shaky conviction growing firmer and earning a solid base.

He had hit a nail on the head – you had been considering not going and then definitely going and then not again, back and forth for various reasons, but mostly because of him; too excited, too hopeful and too scared to meet him.

And to think you had been once afraid of facing him after you suspected that he had read your smutty story about him… this was so much more terrifying than that and now you were biting on your lips, slightly redder due to the lipstick you had applied for the ceremony, and you glanced up to meet Penny’s narrowed eyes in the mirror.

“Don’t you bail out on me now. You promised yesterday that you’d go,” she reminded you, half-concerned, half-strict.

You sighed, knowing fully that she spoke the truth.

“I know. It’s just…”

It’s just that I haven’t replied to Steve, AGAIN, and I don’t know if he’s gonna be there. And what I am going to do if he is.

And what I’m going to do if he isn’t.

Penny charmed a supportive grin, walking to you and putting her hand on your shoulder, squeezing it in comfort until you managed to swallow your nerves for a brief second and return the smile weakly.

She squealed and pulled you to her side, a happy twinkle in her chocolate-coloured eyes.

“We did it, girl! We fucking made it to the end of bachelor studies! And we’re gonna enjoy every moment of that mummery that comes with it!”

You couldn’t but snort, amused at her exclaim, while tears burned in your eyes, a mixture of nerves, grief and happiness.

“Yeah. I guess we should.”

“That’s my girl!”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

For all you wanted to enjoy this day with your friend since your family wouldn’t be able to make it, the first thing your eyes searched for in the crowd getting ready for the ceremony was a broad figure with blond hair, a beard and the most beautiful eyes you couldn’t but fall in love with.

Your stomach, tight from nerves and anticipation, dropped to your feet and you had to focus on keeping the tears at bay.

Steve wasn’t here.

The professors were always seated together, expected to hang out in a group – which somehow provided them safety from both students in the gowns and the few individuals who didn’t understand the dress code and arrived in jeans and sweatshirts – and you couldn’t see Steve among them. You even caught a sight of Bucky; and if Steve wasn’t with him, well, then it was clear that he decided to stay home.

Home. You had felt at home with him too, but that was over now.

What did you expect though? You ignored him for almost a week and even a guy like Steve, so amazing and understanding, would lose his patience with such inconsiderate and downright bratty attitude.

Your heart weighted a ton, heavy in your chest, pounding anxiously at the thought.

Was this how you parted ways? Just… fading away? Two lovers, two people in love – and you had realized over the past few days that Steve must have truly loved you – falling apart for the lack of communication? What a cliché.

But really, how could you have kept your hopes up that he would show up? Because it was sort of expected from the professors? Please. Because he had asked you to let him know if you didn’t want him here… and you hadn’t responded? Again? Right.

Yes, you hadn’t requested that he stayed away – then again, you hadn’t exactly begged him to come either. All that because you let yourself fall into the pit of doubts and allowed them to eat at your soul and ruin your relationship with the best man you had ever met instead of holding onto him for a dear life.

You guessed it served you right, more so now, in this very moment.

Because right now, your resolve and faith that you had been meant to be with Steve felt more solid than ever. By the laws of human nature, by its very essence, you were certain of what you wanted the moment you understood that you lost it.

A tug at your hand snapped you from your gloomy self-depreciating thoughts, your head automatically turning the direction the intrusion came from. Penny’s face came into view and she frowned as she saw you blink away tears.

“Hey! No brooding today! Today is a great win of our lives. You hear me?” she scolded you lightly, her eyes twinkling with true happiness and you gulped, nodding obediently.

“Right. Sorry. You’re right of course.”

“Damn right I am.”

You charmed a pathetic smile for her and looked at the other students in the black gowns to distract yourself from one single thought – Is it a win? Or is it the final prove of my loss?

You desperately tried to believe Pen and forced yourself to focus on the bright side, on what you were supposed to be delighted for; you finished your bachelor studies. Yay!

Yet, despite your best efforts, the ceremony and the speeches from the professors and the officials of your university, all the ‘mummery’ as Penny called it, happened in a strange haze.

Perhaps that was how everyone felt, drunk on euphoria instead? You guessed. You thought you might have smiled at some point, fuelled by a brief moment of true victory.

You stood there among other students, your eyes on the stage where Sharon Carter, a student at the top of your class, walked to the stand to give a speech.

You weren’t exactly friends with Sharon – you talked sometimes, more of a common courtesy exchanged simply because you were classmates. Still, you were mildly curious about what she had to say; she was marked a great student for a reason and she tended to have the ability to catch attention and awake something in others when she talked. An excellent choice for the speech – however, you caught yourself nervously toying with the cap of the case with your diploma, feeling fatigue of the past days catching up with you.

God, you wanted to go back to your whining and misery, not because you revelled in it, but because in the safety of your dorm room, you didn’t have to put up a front of a student excited to graduate. Not that you were any good at the pretence.

“Good morning, everyone. Mr. President, Mr. Dean, Professors… and most importantly, students. For some of us, the journey ends here – we are about to leave the not-so-safe space of the university and try our chances out there, in the open and much more dangerous world,” Carter started, a mild smile on her lips. “That said, it doesn’t mean that our school days were exactly easy.”

“Oh, you had no idea,” you mumbled under your breath, a pang in your ribcage reminding you just how harsh university space could be – not just because of the professors and their impossible tasks.

And they said high-school was the nightmare.

You noticed several people muttering under their breath too, for various reasons. For a brief moment, you felt shame – the pain others had been through could have been even worse, because illness and death had little regard for waiting for when it was more convenient. Who were you to complain?

Then again, you felt like you suffered enough too, your pain just as real as theirs.

Sharon looked around the audience and took a deep breath, her smile turning almost wistful as if she could hear your thoughts.

“While I’m up here, I would like to do something… a bit unconventional. I know this day shouldn’t be dedicated to one person and that is not what I want to do, but I have to speak up. After all, that is what history taught us – that we have to speak up. I want to talk about something everyone who stands here know – sadly, because it was perfectly wide-spread at the university.”

Whispers rose in the crowds along with your pulse skyrocketing.

Fuck. Fuck, she wouldn’t.

Right?! This was something else she was talking about, something you had missed, because you were too busy sulking.

You grabbed Penny’s hand at your side, squeezing harshly and shot her a panicked look, wordlessly pleading her to tell you this was not happening and you were just projecting, imagining this was some nightmare coming to life.

She gave you a side-eye and beckoned her chin to the stage again. Your breathing picked up, your knees feeling weak.

Oh my god, oh fucking shit this was happening.

Why the fuck Sharon wanted to open this can of worms publicly?! Did she hate you?

Granted, you weren’t paying much attention to other people’s faces, but you were hopeful that the mess was slowly dying down and people weren’t necessarily staring at you.

Now, the small circle of people around you who obviously knew where you were, glanced at you pointedly.

Hadn’t your ears been ringing and your panic rising, you might have found it weird that they were smiling at you – and not in a condescending or malicious way.

“Come on. Listen to what she has to say,” Penny whispered to your ear and you eyed her, shocked to find her smiling as well.

A terrible realization hit you like a train.

“Wait, you knew about this?” you hissed angrily, your stomach somersaulting. The actual FUCK?! “You knew she was gonna talk about that? What the hell? Why?!”

Was that why she made you come here?

“Oh honey, you have no idea what was happening these past few days, do you? Just listen.”

Huh?! What the fuck did Penny meant by-

“I just want to remind to the people feeding bad blood that the girl I’m talking about – a smart young woman who had accepted her diploma today, one of us – she earned her degree. In fact, she probably had to work even harder, because that’s the policy, a sort of a reverse favouritism. The records of her exams are much more detailed and she was under scrutiny, she had to prove that she was nothing the self-proclaimed experts were calling her.”

As outside your body as you felt, in this surreal moment where Sharon Carter talked about your dirty laundry during your damn graduation ceremony, the word ‘whore’ still popped in your mind in angry red letters and chased tears into your eyes, the humiliation you had felt when you first spotted the poem overwhelming you again.

“She had to face every evil glare people sent her way, glares she faced for something as simple as being in love. And just so you know, I have it from a reliable source-“ she pretended to cough while saying Penny’s full name, “-her roommate, that for the long months she’s been with her favourite man, it was in fact Professor Phillips whose name she was whispering in her sleep, because we all know he’s a real hard-ass; my condolences to Professor Rogers.”

Chuckles erupted in the crowd and you felt your lips twitch involuntarily. More and more people were turning to you as their colleagues elbowed their ribs to subtly point in your direction.

You lowered your gaze, embarrassed by so much attention – a positive one, it seemed.

When the hell did that happen?

“Also, all kudos to Nelson and Murdock, who accepted our request and are now suing the hell out of the Expert One and Two, possibly Three, for defamation and possible attempted assault.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

A breathy “Wait, what?!” fell from your lips.

“They offered to do it for free, but I think that a small donation never hurt anyone. You’ll find the link on the forum dedicated to our girl. You’ll find the link to that forum in your inbox if you haven’t already.”

There was a forum dedicated to you?! To hate you or to support you? How could you… not know about that?

Probably had something to do with how you shut off the whole world… social media included. Hell, especially those.

And the people who wrote the poem and sent it to everyone on uni could actually… be sued? It was that serious? From the legal side, not yours, you were sufficiently ruined about that you had no doubt-

“Let’s clap for Nelson and Murdock as they wave at us. Thank you, gentlemen!” Sharon called out and everyone’s head turned to a pair of lawyers you couldn’t hope to see – but you really had to in the future, because what?!

However, you did reluctantly join the deafening applause the people present dedicated to them.

Seriously, what was happening?

“Why I’m saying all this… I know she’s here with us today, because she deserves it just like everyone else. I would like to invite her to stand to the very left of the crowd. Please, come on, our brave soul.”

Sharon’s eyes unmistakably found you as if she knew where you were standing the whole time – which she probably could. Because of Penny. And obviously, few others.

Penny nudged you with a grin and you gulped as several onlookers sent you encouraging smiles.

You felt your face burning with all the eyes on you, your head spinning.

Oh god, oh god-

“Go,” Penny whispered to your ear. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

I’ll like what exactly?

“Uh-huh, sure,” you mumbled but gave in, your shaky feet carrying you outside the line of chairs to your left – it was probably no coincidence that you didn’t have to cross the aisle, already standing on the left half.

Everything was planned, that you were starting to understand… but to what end?

“You see, I want her to understand that maybe two or three people in this damn school made a fuss, but there’s quite a lot of people who don’t think any less of her, of people who are in fact happy for her and Professor Rogers. Also, I want her to be easy to find for later purpose,” Sharon explained as you reluctantly approached the aforementioned spot.

For later purpose? Easy to find?

A hunch slowly crept up your back and you couldn’t decide whether you wanted it to be true or not.

What were the chances it was something else though?

Pretty big, in fact. Because you had no clue what a surreal world you had found yourself in and how, but it seemed like everything, even the most absurd thing you wouldn’t even dare to think about, came to life here.

“You know, the best thing about her story is that… it’s a story of all of us. I mean, not in such a great detail, gosh, we wish to own a heart of such fine man, but…” More laughter erupted from the crowd and you choked on the sound ripped from your throat, something between a chuckle and a sob.

Wasn’t that the truth…

”But in the end, there is no great difference. We’re standing here today, because we pushed through. We stand here today, because this is our story of love and passion – for things, for people. It’s a story of working hard and losing sleep for something that truly matters to us. It’s a story of fighting off sticks and stones and overcoming obstacles, of fighting for our future,” Sharon said ceremonially, her voice fuelled by true yet not theatrical passion. One corner of her lips rose in a sad smile as she lightly shook her head, sending her blond hair flying. “And folks, I hate to break it to you, but it ain’t always gonna be easy. But the fact that we’re here today, in these ridiculous outfits we secretly love because they are a testimony to our success… it tells me that the future might not be the worst either.”

Sharon Carter made a pregnant pause, eyes searching in the sea of faces watching her, until her gaze fell at someone near you and her lips spread in an almost cheeky smile, one you hadn’t know she was capable of.

Before you could try and see what was the cause – even if the rapid beats of your heart already seemed to know the answer – she delivered an explanation.

“Isn’t that right, Professor Rogers?”

Hushed voices and shocked exclaims reached your ears, but you couldn’t quite hear them over the pounding of your pulse in your temples.

A tall figure with broad shoulders cladded in an unfamiliar hoodie was making its way to you, the crowd parting like a sea with each step he took. Even though he did, he didn’t have to lose the hood for your benefit – you had inspected his body thoroughly on many occasions, you knew his gait, and until now, you had believed that you were aware of every hoodie he had in his closet, because you had borrowed each and every one of them at least once when staying at his place... often.

Ruffled blond hair appeared first and then everything you had eyes for was his lips, curved in a hesitant smile and the beautiful eyes, so deep you could drown in them.

Your fingertips tingled with anticipation, your chest heaving in quick shallow breaths full of anxiety.

The expression on Steve’s face was unreadable – and yet, just seeing his face after the series of unfortunate events, was enough to chase tears into your eyes and for your feet to twitch with the unstoppable urge to run to him.

It was only the fear of his reaction that prevented you from making the tinniest move.

A pointed clearing of a throat sounded through the microphone, but you couldn’t tell if it worked on people, if they turned their attention to the person on the stage or kept watching your reunion. Reunion with Steve – who naturally hogged all your attention and as he approached you, his presence assaulting nearly all of your senses.

A sight for your sore teary eyes.

The barely audible yet deafening whisper of your name.

His natural scent mixed with his cologne and the detergent he used – even standing two feet away, you would swear you could smell it, perhaps a mirage created by your wishful memories.

The ghost of his skin and hair tickled your fingers as you had been running your hands through his hair and beard and roamed his body so often that you could practically feel it even now.

Half of the things you sensed must have been a figment of your imagination; yet, they felt very real, as did the rapid staccato of your heart hammering in your ribcage, the butterflies both pleasant and unpleasant occupying your stomach.

“Now, let the lovebirds figure it out and listen up, people…”

“Hi,” he greeted you softly, a single caress of his voice encouraging the flipping of metaphorical wings in your stomach.

“Hi,” you replied automatically, unable to think about anything better to say.

What were you supposed to say?

You had already made your peace with him not coming… to a point. You forgone all hope; so now you were desperately unprepared for him showing up, all casual-looking in jeans and a hoodie and so damn gorgeous as always.

An attempt at a smile graced his lips, his hand rising to the back of his neck in his typically bashful gesture as he self-consciously looked around.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea they would make such a fuss. I just followed the instructions and showed up-“

You heart sank to your gut; your body, warming up in his presence alone as he was your personal sun, suddenly felt cold with the metaphorical bucket of icy water his words provided.

He came here because someone told him to – someone who planned this stunt, this ridiculous and utterly stupid show. What was next? Were you supposed to kiss for the audience?

The same nausea you remembered feeling when seeing the poem hit you all over again; Steve didn’t want to be here.

He wasn’t here for you, he wasn’t here because he wanted to set things right.

The pain erupting in your chest was shocking and burned like a flame fed on gasoline. You truly were over and his words-

“No, wait, that came out wrong!” he hurried, crossing the short distance between you in three long steps and you would have taken a step back, hadn’t your feet rooted into the ground. “I came… I’m here because I wanted to see you. I missed you, sweetheart.”

Tears rolled freely down your face, the endearment sending a shiver down your spine, the admission sparking a warm light within you again.

You met his gaze, your knees shaking slightly in weakness, threatening to give out as you feared what exactly you would see in his eyes.

You could melt right there when you were met with the same softness he always observed you with, a blue-green sea of wonder and love, tainted with reluctance and regret.

You pressed your lips together in effort to stop your jaw from quivering.

Regret you were more than familiar with; conflict, sorrow, self-pity, anger, resignation, shame… those were the other emotions which you guessed he could read on your face.

His brows furrowed and he closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“I’m not here to guilt trip you. Actually-“ Steve started again and finally, as his hand disappeared in the front pocket of the hoodie, you found your voice, interrupting him.

“I missed you too,” you sobbed, covering your mouth as soon as the pathetic sound left your lips.

Steve’s own lips parted in awe, his gaze somewhat lighting up with a new hearty emotion.

But once you started talking, finally, finally speaking up, the dam broke and the waterfall of words couldn’t be stopped.

“And I’m sorry, Steve, I’m so sorry for shutting you off like that, you didn’t deserve that and you were probably in a small personal hell too, I don’t even know if your job was affected and how are doing and it’s not right, I wasn’t supposed to ignore all your calls and texts, I was supposed to-“

“-reach out when you’re ready,” he finished for you, completely differently than you had intended.

It shut you up effectively.

“Look… I understand. It was tough and it still is and if you want this to be the last time we ever talk-- then it will,” he rasped, his voice breaking towards the end of the sentence, your heart squeezing painfully at both the premise and at hearing him hurting.

God, how much he must have been hurting for the past few days and now he was talking about understanding you and forgiving you for ghosting him and still offering you an out and--- Jesus fucking Christ, you were going to drown in your own tears.

And Steve reached into that damn pocket again and even if you had no idea what was there, you had a hunch it was some kind of a gift – either a parting gift or something for your graduation and you simply couldn’t--- you didn’t care for some materialistic shit right now-

You just needed to feel him again.

Taking one single step at a lightning speed, you let the diploma case fall to the ground and threw your arms around Steve’s neck, burying your face in his chest, drawing a surprised huff from him.

A box dug into your stomach, the content of the front pocket, but you didn’t give a fuck.

Not when Steve’s arms sneaked around your waist and shoulder with no hesitation, engulfing you, his nose burying into your hair—and cursing when the cap got in his way.

You chuckled madly into his hoodie, your fingers clutching the fabric when his daring lips awkwardly found a way to your temple.

You felt like you were touched by an angel, delighted laughter that shook both of your entangled bodies ripping from your throat along with a sob.

“Shit, Steve, I’m so sorry, I missed you so much, please forgive me, please, please, please-“

“No way. Nothing to forgive-“

“Like hell it isn’t-“

“It hurt, but I get it. I truly do,” he whispered frantically, his hands moving to push you away just enough to frame your damp face with his big warm palms. “You just needed time to process what happened.”

You nodded and then lowered your gaze in shame – because you were incredibly embarrassed for your further cowardice, sobbing like a stupid five-year-old. “And then I—I was scared that you wouldn’t care anymore- that it was too late-“

God, now when you said it out loud, it sounded even more pathetic, but that was now, in his arms, when everything made so much more sense-

He shook his head, causing you to look up again just in time to see the flash of hurt in his brilliant irises disappearing. With a brief smile passing his lips, he held your face more firmly in attempt to maintain eye contact.

“No. It would take a whole lot more for me to stop caring and there still would be no guarantee it would work,” he promised, gaze so intense that you couldn’t but believe him, no matter how unreal his words sounded. “You are not what they called you and you are mine, as long as you want, because I love you. Okay? I love you, because yeah, I still think you’re really freaking amazing.”

You chuckled at his choice of words, your heart bursting with their message. The heavy burden resting upon your shoulders dropped at last – and you felt as light as a feather, bound to the man staring into your eyes as if they were the last thing he wanted to see should he turn blind the next second.

He still loved you. Steve still loved you and both your heart and mind were enamoured of him, overwhelmed with his declaration.

You were not good with your words – in fact, in that moment, you were certain you forgot all the words in English language and in every other language you had ever tried to learn too.

There was only one language left to use then; the universal one that could fit thousands of words into one single second.

You let go of Steve’s hoodie, grabbed his face instead and pulled, rising to your tiptoes in hope to reach his lips with yours.

Luckily for you, he got the message before you could pathetically kiss only the patch of skin under his chin and allowed you to move him as much as you wanted.

And by Gods, did you want, finally adding the fifth sense into the play. Taste. You missed how he tasted and how his beard scratched against your sensitive skin-

Your tears spiked your kiss with salt, but neither of your cared as you pushed through the seam of his lips, letting him know what you desired before passing on the lead to him, an open-mouthed kiss full of desire, longing and raw emotions causing you to forget all about your surroundings until a low wolf-whistle sounded on your right, bringing you back to reality.

You parted involuntarily, foreheads resting against each other, warm tears still rolling down your cheeks, but now getting lost in your content smiles.

“I love you, Steve. I love you and if you love me too, then we belong together and whoever thinks otherwise can shove their opinion where the sun doesn’t shine,” you echoed his words from almost a year ago, words that stuck with you, because they were true.

You and Steve, you were the ones who mattered. These were your lives, your relationship, and you had done nothing wrong.

Because you loved each other.

Steve’s mouth caught yours for a short moment, nothing but a nip at your lips – a silent agreement followed by a warm smile, mirroring your own.

“Will you let me give you a little something now?” he whispered, sounding slightly amused as that would be the third attempt that day and the urge to slap his arm for being cheeky felt like a surge of pure life into your veins. The familiarity made your heart sing.

You glanced up at him, retreating and eyed him from head to toe in an appreciative and yet teasing matter. “Haven’t you already? How do I unwrap you, mister?”

Steve chuckled and pulled out a rectangular box, holding it out for you.

“Here. Congratulation to your bachelor degree. And know that if you don’t like it, we can always pick something else.”

You were only human – and curiosity might have killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back and the curiosity was killing you now as well. You bit down on your lip, not quite succeeding at masking your excited smile; even if you weren’t exactly deserving of a gift from Steve at the moment, which he would probably argue with, you couldn’t deny that you were touched by the gesture and who were you kidding, you did enjoy receiving a gift. And it was your graduation ceremony, you deserved to celebrate in every way imaginable.

You carefully took the box from Steve, tender fingers caressing the bow stuck on top. Hesitating only a second, enjoying the brief intoxicating anticipation, you lifted the lid.

Your breath got stuck in your throat as you revealed the necklace.

The chain, probably silver, was very delicate, carrying a simply decorated heart with a winding line in the middle, as if the heart was broken. Despite the symbolism, you couldn’t but revel at its beauty.

“Steve,” you breathed out shakily, unable to tear your gaze away from the jewellery, tears, dried at last, threatening to escape your eyes again. “This is… so beautiful. So much-“

You lifted your gaze, only to meet his twinkling eyes. “You like it?”

You nearly choked at the absurdity of the question. Liked it?

“Steve, it’s—like it? It’s breath-taking. You shouldn’t have- that’s-” Shit, this must have been so expensive- but you had seen it now and you loved it and you didn’t want to part with ever. “-but I absolutely want to keep it now.”

Steve chuckled lightly at your antics, but you took no offence since you were being a bit greedy.

You reached out to brush the pendant with the softest of touches – and sucked a breath in fright when it fell apart, causing you to realize for the first time that the heart could be divided in two, each part having its own loop on the chain.

“Oh,” you let out in surprise, your mind racing. Now that definitely was symbolic. Not a broken heart. Two parts of one heart. “That’s… does this mean one half is for you?”

As you asked the question to make sure, you looked up to Steve’s face, only to find a blush creeping up his neck.

“Uhm… I mean-“

“That’s so cute! And cheesy. So sweet though! I guess we do fit…” you mused, a goofy smile from the swirl of emotions today a testimony of how mushy the lovely and meaningful gift turned you. Steve’s blush deepened, but a delighted smile spread on his lips, eyes soft, so you assumed he was simply happy you liked it. “And we do complete each other.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Steve whispered, clasping your free hand in his, caressing tenderly before bringing it to his lips and dropping a barely-there kiss on its back.

“Would you wear it?” you queried, slightly nervous. “One of the halves I mean.”

It might have been his idea, but did you read him correctly?

“If that’s what you want. Give me your half and keep mine,” he offered, one corner of his lips higher in a cheeky and yet tender smile.

“You got a deal, Stevie. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it, sweetheart. I was going to give you a key to the apartment officially, kneel on one knee and all that-“

“WHAT?!”

He wanted to do what?!

“-to ask you if you want to move in permanently, but I understand that we’ve been through a lot, you’ve been through a lot, so while the offer stands, I don’t want you to feel pressured or-“

Oh really? Then why did he even tell you about it?

Your heart felt like beating its way out of your chest, the widest grin spreading on your lips. Staring at Steve as he was stuttering, you couldn’t decide whether he was nervous about asking, trying his luck, or was teasing you, knowing all too well what you were about to say.

Oh god, your head was spinning, again-

“Yes!” you blurted out before you could think twice, shocking the stammering mess of Steve into silence.

“Really?!” he shot back in awe, his lips left parted in genuine surprise – and his expression was pure relief.

“Yes. If you mean it – and God help you if you don’t-“ And you were serious, if he was messing with you now— he wouldn’t, right? Steve wouldn’t joke about such important topic, about your life together.

“Of course I mean it-”

You squealed, closing the box you had nearly dropped in shock and hugged Steve as tight as you could, causing him to huff for the second time that day. Oh you were never letting go of him!

The crowd you entirely forgot about cheered and you jumped away from Steve as if burned, horrified that they had been following your reconciliation and displays of love this whole time-

And then you noticed the graduation caps in the air, a tradition celebrating the success of your year. You grinned at the image, catching Steve’s gaze.

“Go on,” he encouraged you, mirroring your grin when you reached for the square cap, swinging and sending it high in the air.

A yelp escaped you as you found yourself in the air as well in a blink of an eye, nestled in Steve’s arms as he laughed madly, pure delight shining from his eyes; and love. So much love.

You barely caught the cap, not really caring for it when in the arms of your man. You dropped a kiss to his lips, earning one in return and a few more, as you couldn’t get enough for each other after such a long time apart and so much unnecessary heartbreak.

You rested your foreheads against each other, tender meetings of lips, brushes of noses-

Steve winced and hissed in pain, causing you to withdraw and frown as you studied his face.

“Sorry, just… my nose…” he mumbled, seemingly embarrassed, “...tender.”

“From…?” you questioned, absolutely baffled. Steve sighed, but just one glare from you told him that you were not letting it go. You didn’t want him in any pain – you both lived through more enough of it in the past few days.

“Bucky punched me.”

“What?!” you blurted out, shocked to the core, and you braced yourself on Steve’s shoulders, your gaze automatically flickering through the crowd to find the culprit.

Why the heck would Bucky-

“Long story, tell you later,” Steve promised with a peck to your lips, signalling that the conversation was over. For now.

You had better things to do after all. So you only smiled in agreement – you couldn’t seem to stop smiling for some reason.

Wonder what that could be? Maybe because it finally feels like today is a win?

“I’m sure you will.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦- Bonus: -◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

It was the day after her own graduation when the blond was sitting on a park bench, light summer dress with cherry blossoms gently swirling around her knees, absentmindedly swiping through the apps on her phone, looking up every now and then to smile at the image of families enjoying the weather and freedom of summer.

She merely paused in her idly actions when the redhead woman she was waiting for seated herself next to her on the other end, sliding an envelope with a promised reward her way.

“As promised,” the redhead said disinterestedly, barely on a lower volume than a normal conversation would be and tugged a loose strand of her hair behind her sunglasses. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

The blond smiled softly, reaching for the envelope and subtly hid it in her purse. “Same. It was rather fun, actually.”

This time, a smile broke on the redhead’s lips as well, cocky, satisfied, but by any means false.

“Well, I heard you’re staying for your master’s. You contact Danvers if you want any more of that fun, da?”

“You better count on that, Rushman.”

“It’s Romanoff, actually,” the redhead smirked, side-eyeing the blond as she rose to her feet again, ready to go where her orders would take her. She spent one more glance at the other woman though; she had carried out her task perfectly, in a way that seem very natural. She’d make a good addition to their growing team and since Natasha was anything but unpolite… “Looking forward to working with you in the future, Carter.”

Sharon Carter felt a surge of pride and couldn’t but return the courtesy before the woman would walk away from her life for god knew how long.

“Feeling’s mutual.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Attached masterlist

Attached: Words Lost in Translation

S.R.masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Thank you for reading ♥ We’re over 40k into the series, so thank you if you stuck around :-*

Lemme know your thoughts?

You might have noticed a to-be link for another addition to the Attached series called Words Lost in Translation. It’s more of an idea in my head, very little of the actual story written, but it will hopefully involve a bit jealousy… and smut. Just FYI.

Stay happy and safe!

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b0n-chann · 5 years ago

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Okay so we’re following up with prompt 200 where the reader doesn’t know she’s pregnant. Couldn’t stop thinking about how Din finds out and how he takes it and I was feeling real soft this afternoon. Also, I’ve been brainstorming for this Marcus Pike fic but that’s another story. Space daddy activatedddddd!

Ad’ika

Pairing: Din Djarin x reader

Warnings: none, just lots of fluff 🥰

—————

Three small plus signs stared back up at you on the counter in the fresher, unsurprisingly. Cara managed to find the tests when she went on the supply run and had discreetly handed them to you while Din tended to the child. Wanting to be completely sure, you decided on using all three—and they all told you the same thing. You collect the small sticks quickly and hide them away before walking back out into the hull of the ship. Cara doesn’t need to see the tests to know the answer.

“You’re going to be fine,” she soothes, wrapping her arms around you. Although not one to show much affection to anyone, Cara cared for you like she would have cared for her younger sister had she survived. You remind Cara greatly of her and can only imagine how terrifying this reality is for you. The unknown is always uncertain.

That was days ago. You had since dropped Cara back off in Nevarro, as she was ready to be back on the ground. With a quick handshake to the Mandalorian, ear rub to the child and knowing look to you, the ex shock trooper makes her way back into town, promising to be in touch soon enough.

Since then you’ve gone back and forth, trying to will yourself to tell Din the news. You aren’t sure if it was the nerves or the new life wreaking havoc inside of you, but every time you try to talk to the Mandalorian, you end up being sick. Worry mars his face as you run to the fresher the third time that morning.

“How are you feeling, Beautiful?” He asked through the closed door. He could hear you mumble something incoherently as he sighs. He worries for you, noticing how little you’ve been eating and how sick you’ve been getting over the last week. Hoping that a change in scenery might help you, he landed in Naboo earlier that morning hoping that the rolling hills and temperate climate will lift your spirits.

When you exit the fresher, Din is waiting for you. You walk into his arms and place your head against the beskar of his cuirass; a cool wave of relief washing over your body. He holds you close to him, running his fingers through your hair. “Tell me what I can do to help.” You shake your head, still so nervous to tell him, the butterflies in your stomach threatening to make you ill again. You feel the Mandalorian sigh, and you can tell he’s trying his best to keep his patience. “Come, then. Let’s go outside and get some fresh air.”

Din guides you down the ramp of the ship with the child curiously toddles behind. Green hills and blue skies welcome you as you exit the Crest and immediately your spirits pick up. The child tugs on your skirts and you are quick to oblige. Placing the child on your hip, you walk to a nearby tree and sit down, placing the child in front of you. He looks up at you curiously, flashing his small teeth in a smile. “Hello, sweet thing,” you say as the child clambers over you. Din nearly chastises the child for bothering you but stops when he sees you smile and hears you laugh. He hasn’t seen or heard you do either in days and while slightly saddened that he hasn’t been able to illicit that response from you, he buries it quickly and lets out a breath of relief.

However, the scene before him stirs something inside of him, and watching you with the child makes him realize how much he relishes these moments. Often times when he’s out on a hunt, Din finds that thoughts of you and the child push him to be faster and work harder, if only because it means he’ll come back to you sooner. Lately, thoughts of life after bounty hunting consume him, which is something that catches him off guard. Dreams of a home filled with laughter and the pitter patter of small feet have invaded his mind on more than one occasion. You have never voiced your want of children to him though, so he keeps these dreams to himself.

Satisfied that you look comfortable, he leaves you two to look for wood for a fire, promising to remain close by and to be back soon. You and the child spend the late morning lazing around, enjoying the peace and nature around you. The recent planets you’ve visited haven’t been kind to your group, and the billowing trees and sprouting flowers are a welcome reprieve to the both of you. The child comes up to you with a small bouquet of wildflowers, his toothy grin causing a matching one of your own. Thanking him with a pat to his wrinkly green forehead, you take them and form a chain. The child watches you with what you can only call childlike wonder as you make a small crown. He attempts to make his own but only manages to make a small mess instead. You laugh at his antics. “That’s okay,” you tell him. “This one is for you.” Your spend the next few moments continuing your work, the child handing you a flower here and there to help you along.

Satisfied with its completion, you place the flowers on his head with a small nod. The child’s laughter fills the clearing and you can’t help but laugh along with him, his happiness infectious. The child looks up at you from your lap and tilts his head curiously before looking around. You watch the child with interest as he seems to be looking for something.

“What is it, little thing?” You ask as he pushes away from you to the ground. You watch as he walks around the small clearing. He takes a few steps, his large owlish eyes scanning the area before he toddles around again. You grin at the small child before absentmindedly running your hand over your stomach. Getting up, you make your way over to him, curious as to what he seems to be searching for. You have seen the child do extraordinary things with his gift before and you wonder if he is about to show you something new. As you get closer to him, a look of recognition washes over his face and he demands to be picked up, green fingers grabbing the air. “What are you looking for?” You pick him up and immediately his small hands settle around your middle before looking up at you again, and you realize the child knows what you’ve been hiding.

Din makes his way back to the clearing, firewood in his arms, the change in scenery improving his own mood considerably even if it has only been an hour or two. He is careful with footfalls and makes sure to be quiet in case you and the child are sleeping. He’s been worrying about you for weeks now and hopes you’ve been able to rest. Life on the Crest has been difficult as of late, Din urging his small family from planet to planet, quarry to quarry. While he has always been used to such a grueling lifestyle, he’s realized that he has to consider both you and the child as well. Not that you’ve ever complained, but he notices how exhausted you’ve been.

Din smiles to himself as he sees you and the child come into view in the small meadow he left you in. He pauses for a second, taking in the scene before him. You’re holding the child in your arms with him looking up at you, love and adoration evident in both of your faces. While Din has never asked you to take on the role of mother to the child, it seemed to happen naturally, and he could never thank you enough for giving the child what he feels like he could not. Din steps closer to the small clearing and is about to make his presence known but hesitates as he overhears you talking to the child.

“Guess the bantha is out of the bag, huh?” You muse softly. “Don’t really know how to tell your dad...” you trail off, lost in your own thoughts for a second before playing with one of the child’s ears. “But me and your dad, we’ll always love you. Remember that, no matter what happens. You’ll be a wonderful big brother though, won’t you?” The child giggles again before placing his small hand over your stomach again.

Those words shoot right through Din like lightning and the firewood he’s carrying tumbles to the floor. The noise startles you and the child and you look over to find Din just behind the tree line, still as a statue, the beskar doing little to hide his surprise.

“Din,” you start, your voice trembling. Before you can say anything else he’s in front of you, his name igniting something within him. He falls to his knees, holding your waist.

“Tell me, please,” he begs. “I need to hear it.”

You nod slowly and take a deep breath.

“I’m pregnant.”

You wait for a response but all you can hear is the slight crackling of his breathing coming from the modulator. Slowly, with the child still in your arms, you lower yourself to the ground, not taking your eyes off of the visor of his helm. Your worry your lip and wait for a response but are met with continued silence.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you whisper. “Becoming violently ill every time I tried didn’t seem to help my cause, either.”

“How long have you known?” Din’s voice is shaky, at best. The modulator does nothing to hide his emotions.

“Since the supply run with Cara. I had a feeling before, but she was able to get her hands on a few tests. They were all positive.” Your heart hammers in your chest. While you can tell Din is caught off guard by your news, he hasn’t exactly voiced his feelings.

“Umm..a credit for your thoughts?” You ask nervously. The child babbles on in your arms happily, seemingly unaware of the interaction happening above him.

Still silent, Din gingerly places a hand over your abdomen. The child sees his actions and cries out happily before places his own small hand over his father’s.

“Ad’ika,” he breathes out in amazement. You’ve heard him use the term of endearment before towards the child, and to hear him say it with such adoration brings tears to your eyes. You can only nod your head in confirmation, your voice unwilling to cooperate. He pulls you to him in a warm embrace, the child between you.

“You’re not mad?” You question from the crook of his neck.

“I could never be mad at you, Mesh’la,” he reassures you as he smoothes his other hand down your hair before pressing you and the child close to him again. “You have given us a great gift. All three of us.”

Heat rises to your cheeks. “It wasn’t all me, you know?” You murmer under your breath and the Mandalorian lets out a full bodied laugh that saturates you with happiness. His beskar does little to contain his excitement.

“I love it when you smile,” you sigh against him.

“And how do you know I’m smiling?” He quips.

You look at him with a smile of your own. “I can hear it.” Din only hums in content as he continues to process the news. While he earned the title of father when he took in the child, knowing he created a new life with you brings him a new sense of pride. A family was something Din Djarin never thought he could have. But here, he had one, and it was growing.

You take in the man before you, fully armored with the sun glinting across the beskar. To most he is a fearsome warrior; battle hardened and dangerous, too rough to know any kindness. To you, he is your confidant, your lover, and your best friend. But to the child in your arms and the child within you, yet to be born, he is a father.

Tag list:

@momc95 @electricprincess888 @maia-hocane @lamnothome @highonsoundwaves @tedpicklez @renreypoe @mabelleen @cryptkeepersoul @holamor @mando-vibes @lustriix @katialvi @spookyold-saintjm @sarcasm-n-insomnia @awesomefandomsunited @sentimental-ghost @mrsparknuts @oloreaa @sunkissed-winter

Also tagging @tiffdawg and @keeper0fthestars because I love them 😭 Please let me know if you’d like me to add you to the tag list or if I’ve forgotten to add you!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin imagine #star wars fanfiction #star wars imagine #star wars #pedro pascal

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neon-junkie · 4 years ago

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Sharing The Heat

Summary: Micah won't stop complaining about the sleeping arrangements in Colter, so you offer your bed instead. He says the two of you can share it, and offers to keep you warm in the middle of the night.

Pairing: Micah Bell x f!Reader

Word Count: 2444

Rating: NSFW

Tags: C0ck warming, Sharing a bed, Colter, Huddling for warmth, Smut, Creampies.

Notes: Wanted to write some Colter Micah (cause his outfits cute) and @aahhhaaa came up with this idea >:3

Colter wasn't as bad as the camp was making it out to be. You're certain that in its prime time, this was a cute little settlement, tucked away in the mountains, but there are enough graves here to make you question what went on, but what's left of the buildings thankfully supply a decent amount of shelter, keeping you somewhat warm as everybody hides away from the Pinkertons. Susan had organized the sleeping arrangements, as always, and had gone around telling everybody where to rest. For whatever reason, you were put away from the others and given your own private room in the main building. You weren't going to complain as you needed some time and space to yourself, but you still wondered what had lead to you getting your own space. Most people were fine with where they were put. They couldn't be picky, not when everybody is trying their best to stay alive, but to nobody's surprise, Micah had to complain about his bunk. You'd overheard the argument he had, leading to Bill getting punched, and you'd overheard Micah moan about it to anybody who would listen, or pretend to listen. Most people had ignored him, but for some reason, you offered him something just to shut him up, and he offered something in return.

You're on guard duty, a rifle held to your chest as your eyes scout the camp, standing close to the campfire to keep yourself warm. Micah exits the building you're stood in front of, lighting up a cigarette with his gloved hands and chucking the match to the floor. He takes a long drag as you look over your shoulder at him, your eyes then returning to the view. "You alright?" he asks you as he takes a step forward, standing beside you but still a distance away. "Yeah, are you?" you return the question. "Could be better. Ain't happy with those sleeping arrangements," he begins. Oh boy, here we go. "Yeah, I heard," you say with a light sigh. "It's just a bed," you say with a shrug, still not understanding why he had to get so worked up over it. "It ain't just about that. It's the principle," Micah complains, taking another drag. "Just take my bed," you say as you roll your eyes. "Now I couldn't take your bed, sweetheart. That wouldn't be very kind of me," Micah replies, dragging his words with that southern drawl. "How's about we share instead, huh?" You doubt Micah would actually share a bed with you. For starters, he never sleeps, and it's even harder to sleep in this frozen terrain, so you accept his offer, expecting nothing to come from it. "Alright," you say with a shrug. "You mean that? You alright with sharin' a bed with me?" Micah asks, a mix of confidence and uncertainty in his voice as smoke trails from his lips. "Yeah, sure. Could keep me warm, you know?" you reply, your eyes fixed on the landscape but you can feel Micahs on you. "Yeah, I could keep you warm," Micah says with a chuckle, implying something that you weren't sure you wanted. You don't reply and Micah doesn't spark the conversation back up, but his eyes flick between looking around the camp then back to you. Once he finishes his cigarette, he says goodbye. "See you tonight," you reply. "Mhmm, you will," Micah chuckles as he re-enters the cabin. You were still adamant that he wasn't going to join you. Your mind ticks as you lay about in bed, listening out for the sound of footsteps. You'd heard a few pairs but they were other camp members dipping off one by one. You roll onto your side, your back facing the door as you didn't want to make eye contact with him if he does enter the room. Another set of footsteps can be heard, and your eyes fall shut as you hear someone approaching your door. The sound of the door opening can be heard, along with Micahs heavy footsteps as he enters the room. He notices your presence straight away as he stops in his tracks, but then attempts to silently close the door. At least he was kind enough to try and not wake you up. He's moving around the small room, placing his hat down and kicking off his boots. You overhear the sound of leather moving and you're thankful that he's taking off that leather coat of his; you dread to think how cold that'd feel pressed against you if Micah got into bed with it still on. Your body dips slightly as Micah gets into bed. You can feel his eyes on you, checking to see if you were asleep, but you pretend to be, you're not sure why, but you do. He eventually decides you're asleep and lays down onto his back, crossing one ankle over the other as he pulls his share of the blanket over himself. His arm is pressed against your back, squishing against you in this single bed, but the two of you manage to share anyway. You finally doze off, Micah following shortly after. An hour or so later and you're awake again. You know it's still the middle of the night as you can see the darkness through the cracks of the building, and the wind continues to scream outside. The lantern on what's left of the bedside table has blown out, probably from the awful draft, so you can barely look around the room. There's a hot breath on the back of your neck as you lie back down, and that's when you realise that Micah is still asleep, but has rolled over and lazily draped his arm around your waist, his chest pressed against your back. Your first thought is to pick his arm off and push him off the bed, but as much as you despise this man, he's radiating a comfortable amount of heat and though you won't admit it, he's comfortable to cuddle up to. Micah stirs slightly and wraps his arm around you tighter, his forehead resting against your shoulder as he cuddles up to you more. Fine. You'll allow Micah to cuddle up to you, but only because he's warm. He stirs again and this time, his hand trails south to rest on your thigh, lightly kneading it. This shouldn't feel nice, but it does, having Micah massage his hand over your thigh. It seems the touch of a nice pair of thighs has woken him up, as he makes a groggy sound and dips his head up slightly, looking around the room then resting his head back on the pillow. His hand doesn't move away, but he does stop the kneading. "You awake?" he quietly asks as he rests his head against your shoulder again. "Mhmm," you softly hum. "Why you awake? You cold?" Micah questions. "I randomly woke up, but I guess I am, a little bit," you reply. "You know..." Micah begins with a drawl, his breath hot on the back of your neck. "I could warm you up, if you'd like?" "And how do you plan on doing that, Micah?" you ask him. He lets out a chuckle as he begins kneading your thigh again, "I think you know how, sweetheart. But like I said, only if you want me to." At least he was considerate enough to ask. Hell, it's been so long since you had any action, and although Micah isn't somebody you'd pick to help 'warm you up', he's better than nothing. "Alright," you consent as you press your back into Micahs chest more, feeling his stomach hit the curve of your back, keeping you warm. "Good, good," Micah chuckles as his hand trails north, reaching round to play with your inner thighs. You roll your body back so you're still on your side, but Micah now has access to your crotch. He unbuttons your pants and tugs on the waistband, slipping them down to your thighs as you lift your hips up to help him. Micah lets out a pleasant hum as you settle back down into the bed, and hums again as his rough palm finally touches your skin, massaging your thighs yet again. Finally, the pads of his fingers reach your crotch. He dips his hand down so he can trail his fingers over your entrance, brushing over your folds and meeting your clit. You can't help but sigh as Micah begins to rub your clit, pressing your body back against his even more. He lets out another hum, rolling his fingers over your clit with firm movements. Micahs fingers trail back down south and one of them slips into you, slowly working you open. "So tight," Micah compliments under his breath as he slips another finger into you. Sure, you haven't had any action in months, but you weren't expecting Micah, of all people, to be this good as he curls his fingers straight away and begins rutting against your g-spot. "Hush now, wouldn't wanna wake anyone up, would we?" Micah coos as he lifts his body up, propping himself up on his elbow. You can feel his gaze on you, admiring the sounds you make and the faces you pull. Micah dips his head down slightly so he can kiss along your neck, eventually trailing along your jawline and finding your lips. His stache prickles your upper lip as he kisses you, the taste of whiskey still prominent on his tongue as it slides against yours. Micah hits that spot inside of you again and you break the kiss with a soft moan, making him grin and dip his head back down to kiss your neck again. He eventually slips his fingers out and unbuttons his pants, pulling out his member and using your juices on his fingers to slick himself up. Micah spoons you and rubs his cock against your folds, slicking himself up even more. He keeps his hand around the base of his shaft as he taps his cock against your clit, teasing you and testing your patience. Finally, Micah slides in, letting out an "ooh!" as he pushes his length as deep as he can go. He's surprisingly well-built and a good length, not too long to the point where it hurts, but he has a fair amount of girth to him. Micah shuffles back down to lie behind you, slipping his arm under your head as the other one grips onto your hip. At first, he's slow, enjoying the way you're sharing your warmth with him, his cock returning the favour as he heats you up. "Didn't know you'd feel this good, shoulda came onto you a loooong time ago," Micah chuckles, pushing his cock all the way in and holding it there for a few moments. "You always been sweet on me, Micah?" you question. "How couldn't I be? You seen yourself, sweetheart?" Micah asks as he kisses your shoulder. "How's about you show me how sweet you are on me then?" you flirt, and you can feel Micahs cock throb inside of you at your comment. "Dirty girl. I'll show you, alright," he says as he begins to pick up the pace, pumping his shaft into you, his hand moving off your hip to grip onto your thigh. It's hard to keep your moans to a low volume. The sound of skin against skin echoes around the small room, and you pray that it can't be heard from the other rooms, or that nobody is awake to hear it. Micah doesn't moan much, but he does let out the odd grunt and sigh; you're uncertain if that's how he moans, or if he's trying to keep it down. Maybe you'll have to ask for him to warm you up another time to find out. A yelp accidentally slips from your lips as he hits your g-spot, making him chuckle as he does it again. "There it is," he chuckles as he continues to brush against it, enjoying the way your pussy clenches around him. "Good girl," Micah praises, watching you tilt your head so you can whimper into the pillow, muffling your moans. His thrusts are quick and sharp, hit cock hitting your core over and over, his precum already beginning to fill you up. His hand on your thigh begins to leave bruises, gripping onto you firmly as he fucks you. Micahs starting to let out more noises, making surprisingly pretty moans as he buries his head against your back, also trying to keep the noise down. Micah manages to compose himself and dips his head back up, looking down at you, or what he can see of you in the pitch-black room. "You're gonna cum on this cock, ain'tcha? Wonder what happens if I do this?" Micah asks as he moves his hand off your thigh, pressing his fingers firmly onto your clit and rubbing it in quick circles. "Micah!" you sob. Micah replies with a chuckle, his cock continuing to slam into you. "Go on, cum for me, sweetheart. Let me fill you up," Micah coos, still trying to keep his voice down. His cock continues to throb inside of you, his balls feeling heavy as they slap against your clit, over and over. Another few rough ruts of his cock, along with his fingers working quick circles over your clit, and you're cuming on Micahs cock, tensing around his shaft, screwing your eyes shut as your head begins to spin. Micah lets out an "oh, shit!" as he cums, pushing his load deep inside of you, still slowly fucking you as he finishes off his orgasm. Micahs forehead presses between your shoulder blades, panting softly as he moves his hand from your clit to wrap around your waist. His grip on you is surprisingly tight for a man that seems to cut everybody off, maybe it's because he's so touch-deprived? Or maybe he's the type that loves to cuddle after sex? Maybe both? You're quick to fall back asleep, Micah joining you with his softening cock still inside of you, sharing the heat. By the time you awaken, Micah has already got up and left, but he had the decency to pull your pants back up, leaving the buttons open so you can sleep a bit more comfortably. You roll onto your back, going over the event that happened in the middle of the night. Well, it's happened now, and surprisingly, you don't regret it. If anything, you want another chance encounter with that outcast of a man. But you'll just have to wait and see what opportunities arise.

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ddarker-dreams · 5 years ago

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ladybug. yandere!giorno x reader

tw: emotional manipulation, humiliation

giorno is patient with you, but everything has limits.

click here to check out my commissions!

Sunlight has always felt nice on your skin.

Even when it’s obscured by glass windows, it brings a sense of comfort that’s unmatched by anything else. Compliment it by drinking any assortment of hot drinks, such as cappuccinos or espressos, and it makes your world feel whole. For hours at a time you could bask in it, eyes fluttering shut and soaking in blissful warmth.

The breakfast room you sit in most mornings is surrounded by circle topped windows, deliberately placed on the east wing of Giorno’s villa to capture the morning sun. In the middle of the room sits a petite glass table, large enough to be accompanied by four birch wood seats.

Every morning you come here, an assortment of pastries and berries are laid out to your liking. A rotating set of china accompanies them, differing in color depending on the seasons. As it’s currently winter, a pearly white set with sapphire designs are in use. With spring budding around the season, you’ll soon be met with your favorite set; one with sakura designs from Japan.

All of these small details are pressed into your mind. Having sat in this room for breakfast too many times to count, you’ve come to know everything about it. From the seasonal fine china, to which chair allows the sun to kiss your skin the longest, to how the windows are kept under lock and key.

You’ve tried that method already.

Funny thing, that is. How an oceanic view gives the illusion of freedom, when looked at through monumental windows. By how the butler’s breath hitches when you run your fingers over the glass longingly, you can only imagine the strict regulations Giorno holds them to. It’s not like it’ll crumble underneath your delicate touch, even if you silently wish it would.

The sight of waves crashing causes a sigh to leave your lips, knowing that you’ll have to be content to watch it from here for the time being. In your myriad of thoughts, you fail to notice a small ladybug settling itself onto your outstretched hand. Looking at it with a frown, you watch as it crawls from the back of your hand to your fingertips.

It’s why you don’t flinch when soft footsteps approach you from behind, already knowing the omen the ladybug brought with it. Retracting your hand away from the window, you feel no desire to look back when you already know who’s there.

“I take it you like the view?” Even early in the morning, Giorno’s voice is composed and smooth. It demands to be listened to and respected, even if you have to admit that begrudgingly. He cherry picks his words with intention, a facade of domesticity mixed within them.

“Why do you use,” you pause for a moment, ignoring Giorno’s rhetorical question to find the best term for his ability. “This… method, when I always come here in the morning. I’m sure you’re well aware of that.”

At this, you finally decide to turn around and face him. Giorno stands in front of you with a relaxed disposition, having already waved off any staff that were nearby. It makes you grit your teeth, knowing the reason why. He’s here to keep an eye on you now, so there’s no need for them to.

Not responding to the clear hostility in your voice, Giorno takes a seat close to where you’re standing. Each movement carries with it a sense of grace and control, not unusual to him. The sun just began to rise, and his normal purple suit is worn without a single wrinkle in sight. His golden hair set in place perfectly, deep eyes never weary from lack of sleep; even after long nights.

Giorno reaches out for a chocolate filled pastry, taking a bite before offering a response. “You woke up earlier than usual.”

The way he says it without returning your clear irritation only serves to disturb you more. No matter how much you try and upset him, Giorno never gives in. Each movement and word is calculated before your eyes, giving the illusion of a perfect, divine man.

Frowning, your eyes flicker between the ladybug on your hand, and then back to Giorno. He continues to eat in silence, most likely not wanting to provoke you more than his presence already does. Continuing your quiet seething, you purse your lips.

“I didn’t take you for my caretaker.” you bite back, eyes narrowing as he doesn’t so much as flinch at your venomous words. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he lightly dusts away any crumbs the pastry left on his lips.

“I never said I was,” Giorno flashes you a sweet smile, one that promises more. “But I am your husband. The two are almost interchangeable in some regards, aren’t they?”

The swift reminder only serves to further sour your mood. Typically he’s not the type to rub things in your face, but you know the reason why he mentioned his relation to you this time. Looking down at your bare ring finger, you find the red ladybug finished its previous scurrying. It now stays circling your lower ring finger, as if it had found its original goal.

Before your very eyes it transforms into a familiar gold band, with a round brilliant diamond in the middle. Various other smaller diamonds line the areas next to it, always making you wonder the original price of such a ring.

“So you noticed,” you respond dryly, eyeing the ring with faint disdain. “Why am I not surprised...”

There isn’t much you can do to practically spite Giorno, but little things make you feel better. Even if it’s something small, like taking off your wedding ring, it brings a temporary solace. But every time you hide it somewhere, it always manages to return to you due to Giorno’s Stand.

Placing the handkerchief back into his pocket, Giorno’s eyes flicker to the food you’ve left untouched on the table. He frowns for a brief second, before looking back to you.

“Come, sit and eat,” Giorno asks of you, motioning to the empty chair next to him. “You haven’t touched your food.”

Considering your options, you look at the admittedly delicious assortment on the table. It pains you to give into anything Giorno tells you to do, but testing his patience is a tricky battle.

He’ll allow you to verbally retaliate against him most times, as long as you’re picky with your insults. Mentioning your adamant abhorrence towards him or your past life will earn varying degrees of punishments, ranging from solitude to threats towards your family. All said with a loving smile.

Begrudgingly, you take your seat next to him and attempt to decide what to eat. This early in the morning your appetite isn’t fully there, and the uneasy feeling Giorno brings you doesn’t help. Upon noticing your hesitation, Giorno reaches for a blueberry scone.

Delicately, he picks up a knife and spreads a generous amount of butter across the flaky top. The butter slowly begins to melt, Giorno seemingly content with the amount. You’re familiar with this little game, knowing that Giorno takes pleasure in preparing food for you that meets his standards. Once he’s done, you gingerly reach to take it from his hands.

Only to be met with a chastising noise, and teasing smile that makes your skin crawl with indignation.

“If I can’t trust you to eat,” Giorno begins with a soft hum, causing you to knit your eyebrows. “I’ll take it upon myself to feed you.”

Cheeks flushing, you take a moment to see if he’s joking with you. But as he holds the scone up a few inches from your lips, you realize he’s being dead serious. If anything, he seems to be amusing himself with your embarrassed expression.

Would it be possible to smack the scone out of his hand? Something tells you that his reflexes might be better than yours, but a small part of you still wants to try your luck. Giorno subtly nudges the scone forth, prompting you to open your mouth for him.

Humiliation settles in, as you slowly part your lips. Giorno’s eyes soften at your submission, placing the tip of the scone into your mouth. Taking a tentative bite, you’re met with an abundance of flavor. The bread almost melts in your mouth, hints of butter dancing on your taste buds before the tart blueberry follows suit.

The two of you fall into a steady rhythm, and before you know it, you’ve finished eating the scone. You expect Giorno to pull his hand back, but he keeps it in front of your lips. Tilting your head at the inaction on his part, Giorno takes it as an opportunity to explain.

“I don’t wish to speak too highly of myself, however,” Giorno starts, his thumb reaching to rub circles on your soft lips. “I’ve been considerate of you, signora. Don’t I always meet your needs? Everything I do, I do it for you, my beloved.”

He ceases his movements momentarily, making sure to hold eye contact with you. You hadn’t noticed it before, but Giorno had moved forward and is now closer to you. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, dizziness starting to settle in by his newfound closeness.

The way his eyes are glazing over with an emotion unidentifiable makes you uncomfortable. But he continues his little speech, continuing to toy with your lips at his leisure.

“And still you remain so adversarial towards me. It hurts me, it truly does. Even so, I’ve never been the type to quit when I have a hard goal in mind. I’ll have you love me, even if I have to pry it out from you.”

“What are you--”

Giorno takes the opportunity to place his middle and index finger into your mouth, making you let out a squeak in shock. He remains level with you, unblinking as a familiar cruelness is found in his tone.

“Would you be a dear and clean my fingers for me? I fear I got them dirty.”

It takes every ounce of self control you have. Holding back every primal instinct to inflict pain on him by biting down, giving him a taste of your own suffering. But even with the immense temptation, you’re unable to bring yourself to do it. The consequences of such an action would undoubtedly outweigh any momentary satisfaction.

Fluttering your eyelids shut to avoid his penetrating gaze, you lazily roll your tongue around his fingers. Tilting your head away from his general direction, you’re once again met with a dissatisfied response.

“Look at me.”

His tone leaves little room for argument. Opening your eyes once more, you shiver at the sheer intensity on Giorno’s face. It reminds you of how he looks when speaking to his Capos, how he adopts a persona unlike his normal polite self. Rarely does he ever inflict it on you, wanting to always charm you.

At what feels like a humiliating eternity, Giorno removes his digits from your mouth. You bite your lip harshly to stop yourself from saying anything else you’ll regret, watching in feigned disinterest as he examines his cleaned fingers.

Giorno drinks in your appearance, his eyes scanning over the different angles of your face. He always compliments your eyes the most, as unwanted as his advances are. You can’t deny that his own turquoise hues are uniquely beautiful, but never intend on letting him know that. From your staring you get the feeling he already knows.

“Obedience is becoming of you, cara.”

The double edged compliment does little for you, only adding flames to the fire within. A sigh leaves Giorno’s lips at your lack of reaction, reaching out to gingerly sip on a mocha cappuccino. For the Don of a mafia group that controls all of Italy to be so fond of chocolate has always felt ironic to you.

Giorno sees you looking at his cup, and tilts it towards you. Understanding the invitation that signals, you shake your head. Returning to your original goal of looking out the window towards the ocean waves, you’re immensely grateful at the few seconds of silence that he grants you. Any reprieve is to be taken advantage of.

In between sips, he finally begins to speak once more. “After some deliberation, a five day long vacation would be acceptable. Things have been settling down lately, and I’d still be on call at all times, but…”

He leans in close to you, placing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll be able to spend more time with you. Do try and be good for me, will you?”

It’s phrased like a question, but is a command. He has a way of draining all the fight you have to offer from you, slowly and deliberately. In a complex web that he spins, trapping you even further when you struggle. Sighing while you accept your fate for now, all you can give is an uncomplicated answer.

“--I’ll try.”

#giorno #giorno giovanna #giorno giovanna x reader #giorno x reader #yandere giorno #yandere giorno giovanna #yandere giorno x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere reader insert #yandere imagine #JoJo's Bizzare Adventure #jojo's bizarre adventures #ougon no kaze #jjba #jjba x reader #yandere jjba #my stuff

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thelittleredheadedmusician · 4 years ago

Text

I don't want to linger any longer

DCU Gen Rating: G Words: 7,523 AO3

In upstate New York there's a very lush, very expensive summer camp that caters to the children of the rich and famous. Bruce and Oliver happen to be those children. And they're less than thrilled to be at this camp.

Alfred was leery of the summer camp. Bruce went to public school partially because of Martha's pointed remarks regarding democracy and public education, partly because of her pointed remarks regarding Thomas's own time at boarding schools and prep schools surrounded by equally rich and entitled boys. Alfred never said anything at the time, it wasn't his place, and would never say anything now but, he whole heartedly believed both. Especially after his own childhood in private schools, even if the times and the British and American systems were very different. Regardless, Bruce was remaining in public school with all the trials it entailed. Including the socializing problem.

He'd always been a quiet, almost shy child but after Martha and Thomas died he retreated far beyond. Even friends from before like Miss Zatara took coaxing and occasionally trickery to get him to interact with. At thirteen and with the beginnings of acne and voice cracks the behavior was partially to be expected. The newfound interest in The Clash was too. Still, Alfred felt strongly that the boy should have the opportunity to at least try and make some friends. So when he overheard some of the women mentioning the summer camp during one of the Wayne Foundation luncheons Bruce insisted they attend "for appearances" (and Alfred was a little worried about the thought process behind that as well but well, one thing at a time) he had to break his normal rule and butt in.

"Pardon me, but what summer camp might this be?" He tried to be as nonobtrusive as possible, it still raised some eyebrows from the women with their pearls and perfect red lipsticks. Their clothes were so immaculate that while he knew they all had nannies, looking at them you never would've even known they had children. Alfred no longer owned a single shirt that wasn't stained somewhere by something, he just hid them well.

The blonde in the most putrid shade of chartreuse he's ever seen recovered first. "Oh! Camp Open Woods. It's in upper state New York, very exclusive but so worth it." Mimi flicked her wrist and half rolled her eyes as though to indicate sending the children she never saw there was the best parenting tip she'd ever taken. Mitzie shifted her hair before continuing, "They've got hiking and horses and like there's a lake." The other women all hum and coo their agreement at how pretty it is, Muffy silenced them with a brow, she was the one who started the story after all. "The kiddos just love it there. Go for a month a time. Would be there year round if they could!" They all nod enthusiastically in agreement.

"Sounds lovely." Which isn't strictly incorrect, but Alfred sincerely doubts these women would actually know whether their children enjoyed the camp or not. "I'll have to look into it, thank you," Alfred excuses himself. He will look into it.

The camp itself does seem the definition of picturesque, with acres of land and woods as well as the lake. The cabins looked to be clean and well maintained. The extensive list of activities alone made Alfred want to go. He reached out to the nannies he'd made friends with over the years, trying to gauge how any of the kids who attended regularly really felt. And the reviews were glowing.

Alfred made an executive decision, the fresh air would be good for Bruce, and called to secure a place for June. Just one month, to test it. Bruce might not be pleased at not having been consulted but Alfred was sure the end results would be well worth it. And if not, it's not like the boy could fire him in revenge. Legal guardianship made that rather tricky.

Oliver heard someone stop in the hall outside his room. From where he sat on the floor organizing the old jazz records his mother had given him he couldn't see who it was, the bed was in the way and he didn't really want to move everything just to get up. That seemed like a lot of work. Whoever it was could just come in. Or talk. Whatever. He wasn't moving.

"Are you in here, Oliver?" he finally heard his mother ask, apparently having grown impatient.

"Yes."

"I signed you up for camp. You leave for New York in the morning. It comes very highly recommended, I'm sure you'll enjoy it. Chef is making your favorite chicken parmesan as a treat for dinner at six. I will see you then." The sound of her heels were nearly silent as she made her way back down the hall with its plush carpeting.

Taking a minute to process this, Oliver stared at the short shelves in front of him momentarily. Well there went his record organizing, now he was going to have to try and pack.

Bruce narrowed his eyes as Alfred slowed to turn the car onto a narrow lane that was barely a break in the trees. A large, wooden arch above it was carved to proclaim it as the entrance to "Camp Open Woods." Somehow, Bruce managed to narrow his eyes even more. Though he suspected it made him look like he was squinting. Especially by the way Alfred pressed his lips into a tight line, an obvious tell that he was trying not to smile.

The lane curved gently through the trees until they opened up to show a field, teenagers and college students in soft blue polo shirts and khaki shorts were scattered throughout it, directing cars in where to park and kids and parents in where to go next. A girl with brightly colored beads on the ends of her tight braids waved at Bruce through the window as they passed. Tentatively, he waved back at the counselor.

Once they were parked, the sleek black sedan settling a little into the grass as they both got out, Bruce immediately slung his backpack on and beat Alfred to the trunk to pull out his bulky footlocker. "Master Bruce," Alfred chided gently, reaching in to help lift the heavy thing, "I do wish you'd let me do that."

"It's fine, Alfred," Bruce protested. Even if the help was appreciated. "Isn't the whole point of this to teach me to be self-sufficient?" Bruce tried to level his steeliest gaze on the man. The unimpressed look he got in return told Bruce he might need to work on that.

Alfred sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in the process -- and really Bruce didn't think his actions warranted that level of dramatics -- before leveling a flat look at Bruce. "No, Master Bruce. The point of this endeavor is that you enjoy yourself with peers of your own age. Possibly make friends. Build lifelong bonds. Get a nasty sunburn on the first day and minor bear scare on the last."

Bruce frowned and lifted one end of the battered footlocker Alfred had dislodged from the attic the week before. Possibly, it had been Alfred's and come from some hidden corner of the man's room as Bruce had never seen it before even in all his exploring of the manor's nooks and crannies. "Exiting pursued by a bear is not a worthy goal, Alfred," he said dryly.

Lifting the other end of the footlocker the duo began to make their way towards the counselors with carts lined up at the front of the field. "Maybe not for yourself, but personally an exciting and Shakespearean end would be the greatest achievement of my mundane existence."

He snorted, and Alfred wondered where his own penchant for melodrama came from.

"Hiya folks!" The young man next to a cart already loaded with duffels and trunks waved brightly as they approached. "Welcome to camp! Where are you staying?"

Bruce glanced to Alfred and Alfred returned the look, both challenging the other to speak first. If Bruce admitted that he had read and memorized the pre-camp welcome packet then Alfred would see it as a win. If Alfred's patience crumbled before Bruce's then it would vastly undermine the veneer of authority Alfred had managed to paint over their strange relationship. The poor guy standing by the cart was starting to look uncomfortable.

Finally, Bruce broke. He was going to be here for a month, it's not like he'd have to see Alfred be smug during that time. "Pine Ridge," he said flatly.

The counselor visibly sagged in relief. "Ok, great! You're going to toss your gear on that cart up there where Gambit's standing then follow the road to the Health Center to turn in your paperwork and get your head and foot check."

Wrinkling his nose, Bruce nodded. He wasn't really a fan of being touched, even for medical examinations, and was a little glad he got a heads up. He'd briefly forgotten about the fact the packet had said there would be a lice and athlete's foot examination. Not that Bruce had either, which is probably why he'd let it slip his mind. They reached the next cart and a young woman with large sunglasses leant against it. Bruce squinted at the lanyard she had around her neck with an odd badge on the end as a nametag, all the counselors had variations of brightly colored and often glitter coated badges on lanyards. Each as unique as the names on them. Hers had popsicle sticks layered to make a large X and playing cards glued on top so that their back's made a place to write. "Gambit" had been scrawled in looping white paint. With red glitter. Bruce really hoped they weren't going to force him to make a glitter nametag.

"Are you living in Pine Ridge?" She asked, pushing off the cart to stand and raising her clipboard.

"Yes," Bruce said simply.

Gambit nodded. "You can toss your stuff on. What's your name?"

"Bruce. Bruce Wayne."

"Ok, double-o-seven," she smirked, checking off something on her clipboard. "I'm Gambit, head girls counselor for Pine Ridge. But just cause I'm not the one doing bed checks on you doesn't mean I'm not still in charge," she teased. Bruce was fairly certain he heard Alfred snicker. "Anyway, you'll be seeing a lot of me over the next month even though we don't share a latrine. You a first time camper?"

"Yes."

"Well then, welcome Bruce, Bruce Wayne!"

Alfred definitely snickered at that.

"Um, thanks."

She grinned and stuck her pen back behind her ear. "I'll watch your stuff until the grounds guys come and hook the cart up to the ATV to take it up to the cabins. Lucky us, we're on the hill. Nice site, one of my personal favorites actually, but you'll be getting your steps in while you're here. Whole summer or no?"

"Um, just the month." Bruce was starting to get a little overwhelmed in the face of her relentless positivity.

"Rad. Well, I hope you enjoy it! You're gonna want to follow the gravel road trail and head to the health center. I'll see you at dinner."

Bruce nodded and began to walk on, Alfred a step behind him. Once they were out of earshot, Bruce hung back slightly so that they walked next to each other and turned to Alfred. "Do you think everyone's going to be like that?"

"Well Master Bruce, I don't think that children's summer camp counselor is a position that attracts introverts," Alfred replied dryly.

Bruce glared.

"Which isn't to say, however, that every person here would be so enthusiastic."

"Hmm." Bruce didn't say anything else and they made their way to the two-story farmhouse that had a sign hanging from the porch proclaiming it the "Health Center" in silence.

A large group of people were spread out in the grass in front of the porch around a series of low, backless wooden benches. Bruce slowed as they approached, lingering on the gravel. Alfred gripped his shoulder once before gently pushing Bruce forward to step into the grass. Alfred was still a head taller than him, but Bruce was catching up and he couldn't wait for the day he could glare at the man without craning his neck. Alfred looked the picture of cool indifference and collected innocence.

"Excuse me," Alfred called, striding forward and fully expecting Bruce to follow. Which he did, but in silent protest. "Is there a queue?"

"Not really," the teenaged boy Alfred had asked shrugged. "Just give your paperwork to nurse Doc, then pick a spot on a bench and we play monkey."

"Monkey?" Bruce tried to raise an incredulous eyebrow. It was a work in progress.

The older boy's face split into a wide grin. "Yeah! You know," and here he began to howl and jump, scratching at his head in imitation of a monkey.

"Ohmystars, Apollo you're ridiculous!" Another teenager said, her silver painted crescent moon nametag read "Artemis" and the two did look like they could be siblings if not twins. "Theater kids." She rolled her eyes derisively.

Apollo stopped abruptly. "Arty, you're a theater kid."

"Tech kid. There's a difference," she snapped with practiced ease.

"She is correct," Alfred added sagely. Bruce's forehead met his palm as he hung his head.

"Thank you!" Artemis preened. "C'mon, I'll take ya in to Doc." She gestured at them to follow as she turned and headed onto the porch. Having no real other option, Bruce glanced at Alfred before following. Artemis had waited for them, holding open the screen door before shouldering open the second door and leading them into a large room with worn wooden floors and a table with a trio of adults sitting behind it. Some other children and parents stood in front of them and spoke with the adults at the table. Artemis winked and wiggled her fingers in a wave before turning to head back outside. But she stopped short and came to stand next to them again. "Actually, they don't need me out there right now and I'd much rather soak up the AC with you."

Bruce nodded. It was cold in here, especially compared to the muggy afternoon it was shaping up to be. And those polo shirts didn't exactly look comfortable. Neither did the crisp button up and khakis Alfred wore, but Bruce could count on one hands the number of times he'd seen Alfred in shorts or a t-shirt. The group in front of them shifted and Artemis lead them to the table. The burly woman on the end glanced up at them and smiled. Unlike the counselors, her nametag was a pin though she, and the other two adults at the table, still wore the light blue polo shirt. And her nametag also had sequins spelling out "Doc."

"Hey there, you have your paperwork?" she said by way of greeting.

Alfred produced a carefully paperclipped stack from somewhere. Bruce honestly had no clue where. Sometimes Alfred liked to do things like that just to puzzle him. Often times. Bruce was certain he did it routinely just for fun and Bruce's annoyance.

Doc took the stack and looked it over before leaning over to file it in a plastic tub and marking this off on a couple different clipboards. "Alright," she said finally, "you're officially checked in, Mr. Wayne. You still need to be checked over before we can let you run wild. But you're checked in. Welcome to Camp." She smiled broadly and held out a hand, Bruce shook it and managed a small smile in return.

Artemis led them back outside and instructed Bruce to sit, take off his shoes and socks, and wait for Apollo cause she didn't "do feet." Alfred chuckled as Bruce sat, his nose wrinkled, and Artemis took gloved hands and a comb through his hair. Apollo eventually reappeared as she declared him lice free and he poked at and spread Bruce's toes before proclaiming him "good to go!"

As Bruce pulled his socks and sneakers back on -- Alfred refused to buy him hiking boots because they wouldn't be broken in in time and apparently if Bruce was going to be miserable it was going to be his own conscious choice and not due to poor footwear decisions -- Alfred chatted with Apollo about a production of Midsummer that the counselor had done in fall. Finally, Bruce was standing up and slipping his backpack on again.

"Well, I'll let you say bye to your dad and then we'll go find your group," Apollo grinned.

"He's not-" Bruce started but the older boy had already walked away and started talking to one of the other counselors. "Hmph."

Alfred raised a single eyebrow -- Bruce wished he'd just teach him how to do that already -- and gave him a sly smile. "Well Master Bruce."

"Alfred."

They both stood there staring at each other. Finally, Bruce caved and stepped forward to wrap his arms around Alfred. "Bye Alfred," he muttered.

Returning the hug, Alfred replied. "I shall be back at the end of the month. I do sincerely hope that you enjoy yourself, Master Bruce. And I expect letters at least once a week. You should have more than enough stamps for that and if not you have credit at the camp store."

Bruce snorted at that before pulling away. "Thanks, Alfred."

Alfred smiled. "Of course, Master Bruce."

Apollo reappeared then and led Bruce to the edge of the trees and a path there. Bruce looked back once to see Alfred still standing by the benches, waving. Bruce waved back before turning to walk into the woods.

Oliver tapped his fingers restlessly on the formica topped table. The other kids all seemed to know each other and once the counselor escorting them to the dining hall left they immediately headed off to meet their friends. Not that he minded, Oliver was used to being alone and could function on his own just fine thanks. But all of these kids would be living with him for the next month at the least. They could at the very least come over and ask him who he was. But apparently, Pine Ridge was the largest unit at camp and so his age group was the biggest if they were staying there. And already there were at least twenty other kids who were all preoccupied and not noticing the blonde kid with a bad haircut.

Tugging at his recently shorn hair, Oliver frowned. He'd been trying to grow it out and it was almost to his shoulders when this morning his mother took him to the barber before putting him on the plane and shipping him off. Supposedly, she thought he'd be too hot with all that hair. Oliver just thought it was a convenient excuse. Oliver respected the trick even if he didn't like it. Especially because he didn't like the end result. His ears were still slightly too big and the cut just emphasized that. No girl would want to go out with a guy with satellite dishes attached to his head. Not that any girl seemed to even want to talk to him right now. Not that anyone at all wanted to talk to him. Maybe if he'd stop glaring at the table? But Oliver didn't really want to be here to begin with.

One of the dinning hall doors opened again and Oliver turned to look. The dorky guy who'd walked Oliver over, and only a dork would name themselves Apollo, and a new kid stood next to him. All dark hair and pale skin that Oliver bet was going to be looking like a lobster by the end of the week. He lingered in the doorway as Apollo said something and turned to leave, scanning the space in front of him. One of the other counselors walked over to meet him, he'd said his name was Sherlock and he was the head boys and Oliver secretly respected him for having the guts to name himself after the world's greatest detective. Sherlock was obviously introducing himself to the boy and Oliver was trying to figure out why the kid looked so dang familiar as his gaze landed on Oliver. And stuck.

That's when it hit him. That kid was Bruce Wayne. His parents talked about him all the time. Mostly, wondering what he would do with Wayne Enterprises once he turned eighteen and could take over and what that would mean for Queen Industries' contracts. Oliver had ever only met the kid once. Right after his parents had died and the whole Queen family had flown out to Gotham to "express their condolences" at the Wayne Foundation's Annual Holiday Party. It wasn't until a couple years later that Oliver realized how awkward the whole thing had been. But that was definitely the same kid, older now but his eyes no less haunted. Oliver blinked and turned away. Bruce Wayne was one kid he'd be happy to leave him alone.

Oliver never did have good luck.

"Oliver Queen?" The kid had come up behind him and without asking, walked around to sit on the bench across from him.

"Yeah?" Oliver winced as his voice cracked at the end. Stupid fraggin luck what the frickety heck stupid stupid puberty.

"I remember you." The kid still hadn't taken off his backpack. They were inside and it's not like someone was gonna steal it. Oliver's own sat on the bench next to him and he barely had anything in it anyway.

"Yeah?" This time his voice didn't crack. Small victory.

"I'm Bruce Wayne."

"Yeah."

The kid's brow crumbled in annoyance and he frowned. "Do you ever say anything else."

Oliver gave his cheekiest grin, oh this was too good. There had never been a more perfect set up. "No."

Impossibly, the kid's look got darker.

Oliver sat and smiled back. The seconds stretch out and Oliver just knew they were each waiting for the other to crack. Bruce continued to glare. Oliver continued to smile.

Finally, his cheeks started to hurt and Oliver took the loss. He was kinda starting to feel like an idiot anyway. "So, this your first summer?"

Bruce relaxed his glare but he still frowned. "I'm just here for a month."

"Didn't answer the question, Brucie."

The frown deepened. "Yes."

Oliver nodded. "Mine too," he admitted. Bruce finally seemed to relax.

"I'm... not sure what we're supposed to do," Bruce admitted, though it looked like struggled to.

Oliver let some of his bravado fall. "Yeah, neither do I. I think we're supposed to have fun, whatever that means."

Bruce's mouth twitched in the direction of a smirk. Oliver took it as a small victory.

"Hi!" A high voice warbled behind Oliver and he turned in surprise.

"Zee?" Bruce sounded just as shocked, though he apparently knew the girl that had just yelled in Oliver's ear. She settled heavily on the bench next to him and Oliver turned to look at her. Long black hair pulled up in a ponytail, bright pink shirt and darker pink shorts, light-up sneakers. She looked younger than him too. Which was confirmed when Bruce said "Aren't you too young to be in this unit?"

The girl rolled her eyes. "I turn eleven in July and I'm here for the summer so."

"That didn't answer the question," Bruce pointed out.

"And the unit is twelve to thirteen," Oliver added, finally recovering from his shock at her sudden appearance.

Pushing out her breath in annoyance, the girl flounced to her feet. "So, I may have heard that you were here and in the dinning hall and convinced my buddy to take a detour on the way to the latrine." She wiggled her arm in the direction of another girl shifting awkwardly by the side door. "We have to sit with our groups at dinner tonight but find me at breakfast tomorrow," she said it like an order and then ran off towards her friend and together they left.

"Alfred," Bruce muttered like a curse.

"Her name's Alfred?" Oliver felt like strange names were just a part of camp life but still.

"Her name's Zatanna." Oh, that was even weirder. "Alfred's my butler."

"Right," Oliver nodded like he understood. He absolutely did not. And Bruce did not seem like he would be explaining.

The counselors finally rounded them all up and made them stand in a wide circle, saying that they were going to count off and play get to know you games since one game of like forty people could be fun but maybe was a bit ambitious for first thing. Bruce told Oliver to stay where he stood before wiggling away further down the circle so that there was three people between them. Four groups of ten or so made logical sense and even if Bruce didn't know if he liked Oliver, he at least kind of knew Oliver and would prefer being in a group with at least one person he knew. So Oliver would have to be that person.

They both wound up being number three and Bruce leaned forward slightly to look at Oliver and smirk. The other boy just blinked back at him.

By the time dinner and the opening campfire rolled around, Bruce had come to the conclusion that Oliver wasn't his friend, but he was certainly one of the more tolerable of the other campers. As soon as he'd introduced himself as Bruce Wayne he'd been all anyone else could focus on. Even the kids not from Gotham looked at him with wide eyes. It made Bruce sympathize with the lions at the Gotham Zoo a whole lot more than usual. But Oliver acted like he didn't care. Oliver acted like he didn't care about anything. Just joking and smirking. He gained a gaggle of admirers over the course of the afternoon despite how downright obnoxious Bruce thought he was, but he still didn't seem to care that Bruce was Bruce and that's really all that mattered.

Besides, they apparently were in the same cabin. It just made sense that they hung out together. And if Oliver got sick of Bruce or Bruce got sick of Oliver well lots of kids wanted to ask Bruce all sorts of questions and everyone else seemed to love Oliver.

Even still, they sat next to each other at meals when Zatanna and an everchanging roster of her friends would flock to Bruce. Zee sitting herself down next to him and chattering on about what she'd done in the few hours they were apart. Oliver looked bewildered by the interaction every time. Bruce just nodded along at the appropriate points and asked questions as the fancy struck him. Sometimes he'd ask her stupid questions, like if she was sure the horse she rode that morning couldn't fly so that she would laugh and say she hasn't "learned levitation yet, you dingus!" Oliver's face when that would happen always made Bruce grin.

These meals were the bright spots in Bruce's day. He was... not having a good time. They'd had a swim test first thing Monday morning and Bruce had stupidly forgotten to put on sunscreen, so between swimming laps in the lake while the lifeguards made notes and sitting on the beach he'd very quickly burnt to a crisp. And would have to deal with that for the foreseeable future. Then on Thursday during their hike, Oliver had been behind him and tripped, stumbling into Bruce and pushing them both off the trail. Right into a patch of poison oak. So now Bruce had sunburn and poison oak. To say he was in constant pain was putting it mildly.

Bruce wasn't making friends. He wasn't enjoying the great outdoors. He was just slowly suffering in silence. Especially after Oliver left the screen door open one night and mosquitos had gotten in to use Bruce as their very own all you can eat buffet. So now Bruce was sunburnt, covered in mosquito bites, and still had poison oak.

Doc was really the only bright spot in this hellhole. Her air conditioned domain of the Health Center was quite and comforting. With individual exam rooms that meant Bruce could be completely alone for at least a little while. Which Bruce desperately needed. Being around people all the time was exhausting. And Doc herself had a wry, dry sense of humor that Bruce appreciated and a calm demeanor when Bruce sat and complained about the fact it was all Oliver's fault everything itched twice over. She would just snicker and have Bruce put some slightly odd smelling pink cream on his skin. Then she'd tell him that maybe he should write home about it. Bruce would frown and say "I will."

Alfred didn't seem to care though based on the letters back Bruce received. Or possibly the man was making fun of him. Most likely both. The end of the month really could not come soon enough.

Frankly, Oliver had no dang clue why Bruce flippin Wayne decided they were friends. Ok, "friends" was a stretch. But still, the kid spent more time with Oliver than anyone else at camp. Maybe he'd hang out with that Zee girl if she weren't in the younger group, and she did come have meals with them and wander over during all camps, but he didn't even really bother to even attempt to talk to anyone else. Oliver at least tried. If only because he was fairly certain he'd singlehandedly end the Wayne family line if he only talked to Bruce. Besides, the other boys in their cabin weren't terrible. Sure they were a little stuck up and that Brad guy had about the same amount of brain cells as Oliver's old hamster, but they weren't awful people. Which couldn't be said about all their fellow campers. Bruce had pushed one boy off the end of the dock the one morning after he said his third sexist remark in an hour. Oliver had gladly covered for him on that one. Another kid kept picking on two of the girls and Oliver might have possibly sort of filled his bag with rocks and as many spiders as he could find when he wasn't looking. He thinks Bruce saw him do it, but he never said anything once the kid got tired of carrying it and opened his backpack then immediately started screaming.

Neither incident had necessarily endeared Bruce to Oliver though. Especially since the kid had somehow managed to tip their canoe while they were in the middle of the lake. So they both floated there buoyed by their life vests spluttering water and trying to right the stupid canoe while screaming at each other and kicking madly. In the cold lake. They never did manage to flip the boat and the counselors had to come with the little motorboat to fish them out of the water. They were still glaring at each other after Sherlock had taken them to get showered and fresh clothes. He let Bruce mess around with his nametag as he ran their wet, smelly stuff into the Health Center and throw it in the washer that was supposedly there. Oliver was still pissed though so he ripped the plastic magnifying glass out of the other boy's hand. Sherlock's name was just a label stuck onto the handle so you could still use it. Which Oliver immediately did in an attempt to burn Bruce's shoelaces.

Which is about when Sherlock came back. "Hey! Oliver! Cut that out! Seriously dude, what're you doing? And Bruce, you were just gonna let him light your shoes on fire?"

Bruce shrugged. "I have other pairs. And I did dump him in the lake."

Oliver handed the nametag back and nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, he's the one who thought he saw a frog and tipped the thing."

"A fish, not a frog."

"Whatever."

"And you gave me poison oak."

Oliver frowned and scratched at some of his own poison oak. "That was not intentional and I have it too."

Sherlock looked between them. "Right. You two are supposed to see Doc soon anyway, wanna go in now?" They both nod and that was the end of that. For then at least. That night Oliver got up to go use the latrine and forgot to close the screen door again. All five boys in the cabin wound up eaten alive and never mind the fact Oliver was just as itchy, Bruce acted as though he'd planned it just to mess with him.

Still didn't excuse the fact that the jerk got them lost and banned from the stables on the following Monday. Oliver liked the stables. He thought the horses were cool and they seemed to like him. He'd tried to schedule as much riding time as they'd let him after the initial group session. Bruce just so happened to have scheduled some on Monday morning too it would seem. And they both were the same ability level. Great. But they were doing a trail ride, going single file through the woods at the edge of camp, didn't leave a whole lot of room for talking and Oliver was more than ok with that. He wound up behind Bruce at the very back of the group and took it at a leisurely pace which Pancake didn't seem to mind. So long as Oliver stayed behind Bruce he just zoned out. Taking in the forest with its sounds and smells, the warm horse that swayed gently as she walked making him sway too. Oliver should've been paying more attention. Because Bruce decided to take his horse on a bit of an adventure. The two were wandering through the woods for an hour before Oliver realized that Bruce had hijacked a horse and gotten them lost. Another two before anyone found them. They'd completely missed lunch. And they were banned from horseback riding.

Not that Bruce cared, he was only here another two weeks.

Oliver had two whole months.

It's not like his father recognized he ever existed half the time, but his mom sending him off to the other side of the country was a bit much. He'd thought they had an understanding. Apparently not. And now he wouldn't even get to ride the horses.

Which Oliver naturally thought was overkill for himself but it was totally punishment for Pancake too. They had bonded. Not that the riding staff seemed to care when he tried to plead his case. Knox looked a little sympathetic at least. And she called after him when he'd turned to walk back over to Brad and maybe go play volleyball or something. "Oliver!" Knox said again and he paused. "I'll talk to Bambi and see about a probationary period or something. Maybe clean some stables or just make it a two week ban since you're here all summer. Kay?"

Oliver grinned. "Thanks." She returned the smile before turning to go back to mucking stalls and cleaning the tack.

Archery, Bruce decided, was the worst. It slapped his reddened and itchy skin even with the arm guard on. The smaller bows they had were too easy for him to pull and sent the arrows almost skittering at the target when he released. The bigger ones and the compound bows were too heavy a draw though and Bruce's twiggy thirteen year old arms just didn't have the strength. Oliver didn't seem to like it either. He seemed like the type of guy who had everything handed to him and most of the sports came naturally to him. Archery didn't. It clearly frustrated him that while he managed to hit the target he couldn't hit the center. Or even the yellow rings just outside it. He managed to pepper the blue ones every time. He could at least use the larger recurve bows at least. Which Bruce wouldn't admit to but was supremely jealous of.

"You just gotta practice, you'll get there!" Legolas reassured him. Bruce and Oliver both raised skeptical brows at that. Legolas had gotten his name because he was a crack shot. Hitting the bullseye just about every time. His encouragement wasn't as meaningful as he meant it. Especially when there was a rumor going around that the other counselors had dared him to shoot an arrow off of someone's head while blindfolded. And that he had managed it. "Though not today," he laughed after checking his watch, "we need to clean up for lunch."

The boys and other campers all turned their bows in and Legolas set them in the shed before returning and sending them to collect their arrows. By the time they were all cleaned up a couple other counselors had wandered out of the woods where they must've gone for a hike on their breaks and decided to head with them to lunch. A week and a half of camp had all the kids falling into a buddy line without even being told and Oliver fell in next to Bruce out of habit. Beaker made them do a headcount, checking each camper off on her list, and let Legolas lead them off toward the dining hall. He also started to lead them in some insipid song about a worm getting stuck in a straw. Legolas would shout a line and around Bruce all the other kids would eagerly shout it back. Even Oliver. Bruce would rather actually swallow a worm.

Inside the dining hall was the usual premeal chaos as counselors took their assigned tables and yelled across the room to each other. Kids swarmed around trying to find seats next to friends or at tables with specific counselors. Bruce scanned the space when a small arm covered in bright string bracelets -- and there hadn't been that many at breakfast, Bruce was certain -- shot up and waved towards him enthusiastically. "BRUCE!" Zatanna bellowed. He was fairly certain she'd pushed her magic into it because he could clearly hear it over everything else. That, or Zatanna was just disturbingly loud.

Bruce began walking to the table she was at and the two seats she appeared to be guarding with her life. Oliver followed and Bruce couldn't explain why. Well at least not beyond the fact that it was just what they did anymore.

"Hey kid," Oliver said by way of greeting. Zatanna preened and smiled. She was a ten-year-old queen and this table was her court. Just no one beyond the three of them knew that just yet.

"Hi Ollie. Oh! I want you guys to meet Hartley! He lives in the cabin two over from mine. He really likes music," Zatanna told them breathlessly, pointing at the small redhead next to her. Bruce and Oliver both sat down across from the two as more kids took the spots further down the table. Oliver waved at the boy while Bruce just nodded. "That's Oliver and that's Bruce, he's my best friend," Zatanna told Hartley and pointed at the two older boys.

Bruce frowned at Zatanna and was glad to see the boy looked skeptical when he glanced between Bruce and Zee. "Isn't he a little old to be your best friend?" he asked a little too loudly.

"Yes." Bruce said. "And we're not best friends."

Zee pouted. "Well until Oliver I was your only friend."

"We're not friends," Bruce and Oliver corrected her at the same time.

"Sure," she said with an eyeroll.

The poor boy she'd dragged into this looked so confused. "So, how old are you?" he finally dredged up the courage to ask.

"Thirteen," Oliver sounded smug. Bruce just nodded.

"Oh." Hartley seemed to shrink in on himself.

"How old are you?" Zee asked, genuinely curious.

"Eight." He was still a little too loud when he spoke, even though he seemed like he was shy.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. He'd been practicing and he knew it wasn't as smooth as Alfred's but Oliver provided infinite possibilities to practice and it was still leaps and bounds better than a week ago. "Aren't you in the nine to eleven group?" he asked Zatanna.

"Yeah," she frowned. "Hartley, how'd you wind up in my group?"

He shrugged. "I skipped a grade and my mom kinda bullied them into putting me in by grade instead of age."

Oliver seemed to hum in understanding. Bruce just felt himself frown. Zatanna met his eye with a slight frown of her own. The moment passed though when one of the counselors started the quiet clap and everyone shut up and turned to pay attention.

Oliver was officially tired of camp by the last week of June. A racoon had gotten into their cabin the day before and went though literally all of their things. It didn't eat or destroy anything though, just wanted to make chaos by rubbing its tiny hands on everything apparently. Sherlock had to make another laundry run for them. Gambit had heard about it over the radio and claimed a golf cart just so she could come laugh at the mess before they managed to clean too much of it up, having been off on her break at the time. She left the cart for Sherlock before heading to her own cabin for the rest of her break, laughing the whole way. The other counselors in the unit made a fire for the boys while everyone else got ready for bed and they waited for their sheets and sleeping bags to be washed.

Unfortunately, Oliver had a whole two more months to go. He was officially less than pleased with his mother for this grand idea.

Luckily, Knox found him before the Final Campfire for those who were only there for the month. Taking long strides up the wide stone steps of the amphitheater to where he sat next to Bruce. Zatanna and her little friend Hartley on Bruce's other side. They all watched as the barn staffer made her way towards them, standing out in her jeans and tall muck boots while everyone else was wearing shorts. "Hey, Ollie!" she called as she approached, obviously not realizing that she already had everyone's full attention. "I just got back from the barn and I wanted to be the first to tell you that your ban has been lifted! You're allowed to come back starting Monday, since Bruce is leaving." Here she grimaced over at Bruce. "Sorry, but Bambi kind of decided you were the responsible party and Ollie just collateral damage. Very foolish collateral damage." She didn't bother to apologize for that one though as she turned to look back to him. "So Pancake will see you Monday? She's missed you."

Oliver nodded eagerly. "Yes. Absolutely. I'll talk to Sherlock about changing my schedule right after the campfire."

Knox nodded. "Sweet. Ok, I need to hit the showers. Bye all! I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow!"

They all said their goodbyes and Oliver couldn't stop smiling. Camp still sucked and the one person who made it interesting at least was leaving tomorrow, but at least Oliver's ban had been lifted. He could spend the rest of summer riding horses.

Bruce thought that he'd never been happier to see Alfred in his life. The man stood on the porch of the Health Center, talking with Doc when Artemis came to collect him from the dining hall where he'd been sitting on the steps, avoiding singing camp songs. The irony of Apollo taking him to the dining hall at the beginning of the month and Artemis leading him from it at the end was not lost on Bruce. Nor was it lost on Alfred by the sly grin he had when he saw who walked with Bruce. "Have a safe trip home!" Artemis said brightly before heading to Bugs, the camp director, and getting the name of the next camper she was to fetch.

"Well Bruce, I'm sorry that the circumstances weren't better but I'm glad I got to know you," she said and held out a hand that Bruce shook. "Maybe I'll see you next year? And if not, keep in touch. Mr. Pennyworth has my mailing address, maybe you can write me some of your famous letters."

Bruce smirked. "I will."

Doc laughed and the corners of Alfred's mouth twitched. "Shall we, Master Wayne?" he asked. "Your footlocker has already been loaded and you have officially been checked out."

Nodding, Bruce eagerly turned to go search the field for the car. He thought to look back once and wave to Doc, but then he was off and moving. He closed the door hard after he climbed in. Alfred started the car but didn't shift into gear. They just sat there in silence as the vents slowly began to push out cold air.

Finally, Alfred asked what he wanted to. "How was camp?"

"Never again, Alfred. Never. Again."

"That bad?"

"Didn't you get my letters?"

Alfred finally pulled out of the field and started down the long drive towards the road. "I did. I had just assumed that you were exaggerating as is your penchant."

Bruce glared at him. "You were talking to Doc."

"And I realized that you were not exaggerating."

"Never. Again."

"Yes, Master Bruce."

#dc comics #bruce wayne #oliver queen #alfred pennyworth #zatanna zatara #fanfiction #fanfic #my fic #own writing #writing #annataz #yes alfred

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bigwhispersbluebird · 3 years ago

Text

Kiss me behind closed doors

How long can you keep a relationship hidden? What happens when the truth comes out and burns everything in its wake? Even the love that once felt enough.

Relationship: Namjoon!idol x Reader!idol

Canon compliant, angst, hints of smut

Author’s note: Another two-shot. Angst cause I am a bitter soul nowadays

The moonlight peeked through the curtains of the window, striking his naked back directly as he slept soundly on the side of my bed he had claimed as his own. I watched the white light illuminate the dips and curves of his back as if kissing him just like I had when he had showed up at my backdoor like it was routine.

And perhaps it was. Sneaking to each other’s places in the quiet of the night, stolen glances in a room full of people and text messages sent and deleted over and over again.

As I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his sleeping form, I tried to memorize his face. The dragon eyes that seemed so innocent like this, the high rising cheekbones melting into deep dimples on the corner of his lips which highlighted the sharp jawline that arched into a prominent Adam’s apple. I curled into myself, wrapping my arms around my knees that were pushed into my body and inhaled his musky and woodsy scent that I was covered in, my eyes still not leaving him.

When I first met Kim Namjoon, we both were stripped bare of the fame, money and eyes of people that urged us to be perfect. We were both on separate vacations and happened to run into each other at a club. Recognizing him, I had bowed to him slightly from afar and that was it. But the next day when I walked into a small local bookstore located at the edge of an alleyway, familiar eyes, now hidden behind thick black rimmed glasses, were staring at mine. Small conversation about books and we thought that it would be the last time these chance meetings would occur. But it was like the universe had conspired against us, throwing us together in the same places at the same time and it was a test of restraint and patience; what we both lacked as the pull between us got stronger everyday as we learned more and more about each other.

The day before I had to return back home, a knock on my door had startled me because I knew who it was before I had even looked through the peephole. I often go back to that day. What would have happened if I had not opened the door? What if I had not let him utter all the things I had ached to hear? What if I had not let him pull me to him and close the door behind us? What if I had not let him stay the night? Or on all the nights that followed?

Maybe then I would not be sitting here on my own bed, afraid to fall asleep because that would mean losing time that was already running out.

In Seoul, Kim Namjoon was RM, the leader of BTS, and I had no right to have him as a lover in my bed every night knowing well that the moment everyone found out that he was dating a controversial solo artist, everything would crash, burn and crumble into ashes at our feet.

“We should stop”, I would say between fervent kisses getting deeper every time and he would kiss me more deeply, digging his long fingers in my hips agreeing, “We should”, but neither of us would stop, we could not.

I don’t know how long I just sat in the same position on the bed but when a notification on his phone illuminated the screen and showed the time, I was brought out of my thoughts. The sun would be out soon and it was wise for him to leave before that. That was the norm after all.

But as I inched closer to him, his hand reaching out in his sleep for mine, the bitter and sad part in me ached to stop being wise and smart. I wanted to let him sleep through the night and the morning. I wanted to wake him up with a good breakfast made out of the tons of groceries that I would shop for every month, only to toss them out the next. I wanted him to sit with me as we did everything and nothing at all.

But I could not be selfish with him.

And so, I softly tried to shake him up awake, “Joon, it is almost morning”.

Groggily, he replied, “What is the time?”.

“It is almost 5″.

At that, he immediately opened his eyes and jolted himself awake- getting up and searching for his clothes. Like routine, I got up from my place and helped him, handing him his shirt as he slipped on his pants. I watched him get ready, mask in place and a dark baseball cap lowered on his head, covering most of his face. Through the entire commotion, he had not spared me a single glance. If he had, he would know that with each article of clothing that he draped on himself, I felt like he was ripping it off me till I was completely unsheltered and cold.

When he was finally dressed, he slipped on his coat and made his way to the backdoor and I tiptoed behind him, opening the door before he could to check if anyone was outside. The area of my house was secluded and not many celebrities lived there either hence, we both barely went to Namjoon’s place. Like always, no one was around and I nodded at Namjoon.

That is when he finally noticed, me and all the giveaways of a disturbed night in my eyes. He knew what was the cause of this and I saw him try to form words that would offer me some comfort. The great Namjoon, who would write meaningful lyrics on a spur and give speeches on massive platforms seemed so vulnerable, standing at my backdoor trying to wonder if words could be of any help and a part of me ached for him.

I reached forwards, clinging to his massive body, my neck wounding around his neck, inhaling him. “I know”, I whispered in his ear and felt his arms tighten around me. The embrace did not last long and he kissed me one last time before he ran towards the street where he knew his driver would be waiting for him.

Once he disappeared from my sight, I closed the door and slipped to the floor. The house suddenly felt vacant, even I felt vacant without his arms to touch me and his fingers to graze mine.

I knew he was going through the same turmoil. When we both had gotten together, we knew it was not going to be easy but we both were prepared to adapt to however the circumstances would be. But after five years of hiding and sneaking, horrible rumors and no sight of any change in our situation in the near future had made us question how long could we keep this up for. I was exhausted and so was he. We would have pulled back a long time ago had not we been crippled by our feelings for each other.

While the distance would torture us, it was during our breaks and vacations where everything would fall back into place and we would be reminded why we chose this. But I wonder now if those days of peace are worth breaking a piece of me every time he leaves.

*****

“Namjoon, is everything okay?”

Yoongi and Jin had watched for quite some time that Namjoon was disturbed. As the leader, he would barely show any signs of pain or weakness but it was quite evident that he was not in the right state of mind. Not to mention, his songs were now melancholic and painful, as if saying what he could not utter himself.

“Of course”, Namjoon said a little too quickly and Jin quickly interrupted, “Don’t even try. We won’t believe you. So why don’t you just tell us”.

Namjoon lowered his head, finally letting the weight on his shoulders crush him and his hands came to cover his face.

“Is it Y/N?”, Jin asked hesitantly and Namjoon could not help but let out a sarcastic laugh. “I wish it was. I really wish it was her who was screaming and fighting with me about our situation. I wish she would stop opening whenever I knock on that damn door. Instead she lets me watch as she gets hurt everyday”, he was now screaming but he did not care. “You know how many times I met her in the last six months?”, not awaiting an answer, he continued, “Not once unless it was to stand at her backdoor at midnight so I could kiss her and sleep with her because I am scared that without these asshole-ish reminders of us, she will up and leave.”

The room stayed silent when he stopped speaking, the only sounds audible were of his heavy breathing as he tried to compose himself.

“She deserves better than a late night rendezvous. This is the woman I have loved for years for fuck’s sake!”.

“Namjoon, you people are not in an easy situation”, Jin tried speaking, “these few hours are all you both can afford and we know that it is difficult but this woman is enduring all this for you, for this relationship that you both have. How about this? As soon as we are done with the promotional activities, take her somewhere”.

“And after that, hyung? Back to this?”, the question rendered Jin speechless.

The room was quiet again.

“Announce it”.

Yoongi was the one to break the silence.

“What?”, Namjoon asked, genuinely confused.

Yoongi sat straighter, leaning a bit more towards the younger one who sat across him.

“Announce your relationship with Y/N. Whatever happens, we will handle it. I know that the general public does not like her a lot but most of our fans will be fine with it. About the rest, we will manage it. How long will the anger stay?”, Yoongi was talking as if it was the easiest thing in the world and the person in question stared at him like had lost his mind.

“It is not that easy...”, Namjoon spoke up but was interrupted by the oldest. “Yoongi is right. Five years and on your way to the sixth. You people have endured enough and I know that you both deserve a fair chance at happiness. You know that so many people have dumped us because of the life we live but she has stood by you through it. It is high time that we all do this for her. And for you.”

“But...”

“No buts. I know that you cannot imagine losing her so it is not like we are making a casual relationship public. Just trust us. We will handle everything.”

Namjoon knew in his head that all this was easier said than done but as his older members kept talking, he could not help but accept that this was the right thing to do. You deserved more than just being fucked by your boyfriend in the late hours of the night and then left all alone. You did not deserve to have BTS pass you by in public because you were controversial when behind closed doors, you would share homemade meals and inside jokes.

It was not going to be easy, but he would do it. For you. For him. But little did he know, that his well kept secret would soon be revealed to the world, but not in the way he could have ever anticipated. Not in a way that would forever end what you both had.

#namjoon #bts #angst #hidden #canon #bangtan #rm #kim namjoon #Reader x Canon #namjoon x reader #relationship #controversy #feelings

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yonqha · 4 years ago

Text

—- ⚡️

“hey, do you need anything?”

allen x reader (requested) // fluff

word count: 814 words

“hey, allen!”

you swung the door open excitedly, revealing a quiet allen lying down on the bed. he was reading a novel, the book being held by his right hand as his left hand was tucked behind his head. as he heard you call his name, he responded, “hm?”

your face had a small smile as you entered the room, closing the door behind you. allen’s response was left hanging, which was your intention from the start. “psst, allen.” you called him again.

“yeah?” he responded, flipping a page as he remained in his position on the bed.

you started giggling softly, teasing and bothering allen was definitely your favorite thing to do. you still didn’t answer him, waiting for him to notice that you were messing with him from the start.

you sat down on the office chair by his desk, which was right beside the bed allen was lying on top of. “alleeen.” you called his name for the third time, swinging the office chair around as your voice rang in the room.

allen sighed, still continuing to read the book in his hand. “what is it?” he replied, starting to notice what you’re doing.

you couldn’t hold it any longer, your soft laugh escaping your mouth as you continued playing around with the office chair. you wondered how long will you keep this up, how long will you test allen’s patience?

“hey alleee-” before you could even finish saying his name, you felt a pull from behind you. the chair swiveled and you were locked in place by allen, who was now directly facing you.

“hey, y/n. do you need anything?” allen softly said as he gave you a smile.

“i...uh…” surprised by allen’s actions, you were left frozen in place. you didn’t even know why you were unable to speak properly, was it because of the sudden turn of events that happened? or was it the smile allen gave? or…

was it because allen’s face is just a few inches away from yours, the proximity making your face heat up?

“you called my name four times. or was it three and a half? i didn’t let you finish with that last one.” allen chuckled, his laughing ringing in your ears like a melody.

“well...i just...wanted to mess with you...that’s all.” you managed to bring these words out of your mouth.

allen hummed in reply, nodding his head. “i just thought you wanted some attention, seeing as i was busy reading my book.” he gave a pat to the book beside him, and the distance between you grew. you were able to breathe now, thankfully.

“oh,” you gave a nervous laugh. “well you know me, i love messing around with you.” you avoided his eyes, tucking your hair behind your ear. “i really didn’t need anything, by the way.” you clarified.

“hm, well alright,” allen pulled away from you and picked up his book. “if you say so.”

he went back to his earlier position, and picked up where he left off. watching him do so, you sighed. you knew there was something you wanted other than messing with allen, but you were too shy to voice it out.

you stood up from the chair and proceeded to head out of the room.

but for some reason, your body stopped moving, and it started to act on its own.

“hey, allen?” you turned around and called him.

“yes?” he responded back, turning over a page.

“i...want something from the vending machine. and from the convenience store across the street. can you come with?” you waited for his reply in anticipation.

allen gave a soft chuckle and put down his book. rising up from the bed with a smile, he approached you with a sigh. “you know, you could’ve just asked me earlier from the start.”

“yeah, but well...i thought it would be fun to mess around with you first.” you looked down at your feet with a small smile, still not daring to face allen and his bright smile.

allen’s smile grew wider at the sight of you being shy. he thought it was cute, and a big contrast to your usual playful personality.

a hand started to snake around yours, and you were surprised enough to raise your head and look at allen (forgetting the beautiful smile he had on, which made you weak). your face started to blush, painting your cheeks a soft red.

“sure, i’d love to,” allen said. “let’s go? i’ll treat you to anything you want.” the softness in his voice made your heart melt, and you could only nod in response.

it has been only day one, but you’re already so close to dying of a heart attack.

you were definitely, definitely, not used to the fact that you are now dating your childhood best friend.

#cravity #cravity imagines #cravity drabbles #allen ma #cravity scenarios #cravity oneshots #cravity x reader #allen imagines #kpop imagines

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pantoneblou · 4 years ago

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Why I think Fine Line has to be listened to in full: A masterpost

So, a couple of weeks ago, literally one lovely anon asked me to do some Fine Line and Walls lyric analyses, which I know is not probable cause for me to bombard all your dashes with a masterpost of incoherent rambling. However, as I began trying to analyse the songs on Fine Line individually, I realised that most of my opinions are built upon the links between the songs. So, I decided that I’m going to try and explain why I think that Fine Line is more like a journey through a long-term relationship, from Harry’s perspective, than twelve stand alone songs (i.e. You need to listen to all the songs on the album in order to understand some of the more cryptic meanings). I don’t necessarily think that there’s something major to say about all the songs (Harry can be quite literal at times) but I’m going to talk about each of the lyrical choices that stand out to me.

So, without further ado, here is my take on Fine Line:

Golden

I’m kicking this off with Golden, mainly because it’s the first on FL but also because I think my interpretation differs slightly from others I’ve seen.

Golden, for me, really starts off the album by introducing us to where Harry is at now upon his journey with the album’s subject. It’s essentially an ode to an amazing, ‘golden’ person, who has continued to persevere with Harry as he’s gone through some trying and testing stages, which will then be acknowledged and spoken about later in the album. Here’s why:

Golden, golden, golden, as I open my eyes,

Hold it, focus, hoping, take me back to the light.

So, Harry starts us off with some hefty repetition that confirms straight away just how great this person is. However, when he says ‘as I open my eyes’, I think he’s referring to the early days of their relationship. In the following line, therefore, I believe he’s longing for the ease of their early days. The subject and their greatness hasn’t changed (hence the present tense and frequent commands in the second line) but Harry has, and whilst he knows its for the best, he can’t help but long for the simplicity of when they first met.

I know you were way too bright for me.

I'm hopeless, broken. So, you wait for me in the sky.

Browns my skin just right

Here’s where I start to get the idea that it is Harry’s issues that have perhaps separated the two of them. Through it all, the person has remained perfect (in Harry’s eyes), someone to look up to who has a wonderful patience and enough love for Harry to ‘wait’ for him. The line ‘browns my skin just right’ is so lovely, because whilst Harry is acknowledging that there were times when their relationship may not have been working, this person’s perfection has never faltered, and they’ve continued to improve Harry’s life and make him happy.

You're so golden (x2)

I'm out of my head

And I know that you're scared

Because hearts get broken

So, I feel like the final lines of each chorus are where people start to get confused with this song. I think – and here’s where I think people might start to disagree with me – that Harry isn’t saying that this Golden figure is scared of their own heart getting broken, but Harry’s. Whilst they continue to be perfect, ‘golden’ in every way possible, they’re afraid for Harry, of what Harry might face as a result of his actions but this song is Harry’s way of saying that it’s okay, I’ll be fine.

I don't wanna be alone (x2)

When it ends, don't wanna let you know

I don't wanna be alone

This part confuses me a little, because when what ends Harry? Going down the lines of the rest of my interpretation, I’m gonna guess that Harry is talking about their relationship. This, to me, is one of the many times across Fine Line where Harry admits his faults a lot more than most other artists do in their songs. He doesn’t want to be apart from this person, so much so that he’d be willing to make it work even if it should truly be over.

But I, I can feel it take a hold (x2)

I can feel you take control (x2)

Of who I am and all I've ever known

Loving you's the antidote

But, it doesn’t really matter, because he’s happy allowing this person to steer the course of the rest of his life. Loving them is the ‘antidote’ to his fears, and he wishes they could see just how wonderful they are so that they’ll stop worrying about him.

Chorus repeated

Bridge

I do find his live lyric changes very interesting here, I’m pretty sure he’s now said all of these at some point ‘I’m hoping someday you’ll open’, ‘I’m hoping someday he’ll open’ and ‘I’m hoping someday I’ll open’. Either way, they all still fit in this interpretation for me. I find it especially interesting that the last lyric change (at the jingle ball) was so recent. I think perhaps this is yet another indication that the turmoil referenced in this song is not yet over.

I know that you're scared

Because I'm so open

These are another two lines that I see talked about a LOT and they are hugely important to my interpretation of this song. I do NOT believe that Harry is saying this person is scared because they can’t be as open as Harry. I believe, again, that he’s saying they’re scared for him. They’re scared of the possible backlash that Harry might face for his openness (if we’re getting personal, perhaps his gender expression, his sexuality, etc.). For me, Harry definitely isn’t saying, I know you’re scared to be as open as me, it’s him saying: I know you’re scared about me being the way that I am, about how it might get me hurt. But I. have. you. And that’s all I could ever need, it’s the antidote to all my fears, and I hope one day you’ll be able to see that you’re the reason I’m able to be this ‘open’.

Overall, I think Golden is Harry’s promise that, for as long as he has the ‘golden’ subject, he’s safe from his heart being ‘broken’.

Watermelon Sugar

I don’t think that Watermelon Sugar has been wrongly interpreted in the past (ie, I do think it can be read as a celebration of the joy found in a sexual relationship). However, I think some lyrics are actually super wholesome, and I read WS as more of a teenage version of Golden.

For example:

Tastes like strawberries

On a summer evenin'

And it sounds just like a song

I want more berries

And that summer feelin'

It's so wonderful and warm

Everything about this first verse just screams adolescence to me? The summer evenings are those in which you played out with your friends until the sun finally went in at 9pm, and the ‘song’ is a beautiful one that you’re listening to for the first time. That’s what the love felt like for him, at first. It was passionate, yes, but also endlessly warm and safe.

Baby you’re the end of June

What do we associate with June here in the UK? Long days of (well I wish it was endless, but at least persistent) sunshine. Here’s where I get my evidence that WS is about the same person as Golden. This person is a ‘summer evening’ personified, they’re his sunshine.

I want your belly

This lyric is just??? The cute little face emoji??? In a lyric??? Like, ‘belly’ isn’t a word I hear adults use very often??? This lyric tells us that Harry longs for that feeling of initial infatuation, the time when all they could think about was being together and getting lost in one another.

Ultimately, I see WS as the Golden prequel. It’s their relationship before either of them faced any hardship, when they were able to be freely and completely ‘washed’ up in one another. The WS days are the days he yearns for when he asks to be ‘[taken] back to the light’ in Golden.

Adore You

Not a huge amount to say about this song. I think it’s worth mentioning that there are many indications that it’s definitely about the same lover as Golden and WS. Harry uses similar weather analogies, this time referring to a ‘rainbow paradise’ instead of the more literal sunshine he refers to in Golden and WS. But it’s the same theme. AY makes it clear that Harry associates this person with everything bright, warm and comfortable, they’re ‘brown skin and lemon over ice’, they’re his summer. This song, however, is more about him begging for them to just let him indulge himself in his love for them.

Lights Up

I don’t have much to say about the whole song that hasn’t already been said but have we talked about this lyric?

All the lights couldn't put out the dark

Running through my heart

Because I think it’s important that he accepts darkness in a song and an album that is otherwise so focused on the light. I will be saying this a lot, but Harry has a habit of acknowledging his humanness in his lyrics in a way that I don’t think a lot of artists manage to (think: ‘arrogant son of a bitch’, ‘what am I now?’, ‘I’m selfish so I’m hating it’). This line really does it for me. ‘Lights up’, otherwise, is a non-apology for Harry accepting who he is. But in this line, he seems to acknowledge that it doesn’t matter how much he accepts himself, it doesn’t right the wrongs he’s committed, or dull his imperfections. But Lights Up is him saying ‘I don’t care’.

So earlier, when I said that he’s asking the subject of Golden not to be scared? This is what he’s talking about. He’s asking them not to be scared about the consequences of him stepping into the light because he’s not scared any more; he doesn’t care if his ‘heart gets broken’, because he’s done not being ‘open’, and he’s joining his ‘golden’ person in the light.

Cherry

Cherry is where the album begins to truly delve into the more difficult parts of this relationship, where they perhaps took some time apart.

I was going to do a full lyric analysis of it, but the more I look at it, the more I just think it’s Harry at his absolute pettiest (and if anything that kind of makes me love it more??)

Have we ever discussed how much he sounds like a stroppy child when he says ‘Did you know I still talk to [your friends]?’ or ‘Does he take you walking round his parent’s gallery?’ I can almost picture Harry asking these questions in a high-pitched, whiny voice when he drop some stuff round at an ex’s place. The reason this makes me love him even more is he’s not just admitting to that post-break up stage that we all go through but kind of pretend that we don’t, he actually wrote a whole fucking song about it. He’s admitting that even he isn’t free from getting a bit overly bitter about watching your lover be happy without you. It’s such a lovely way to capture what is otherwise quite an unpleasant feeling, and again, it’s Harry acknowledging his humanness.

Falling

And then, after that initial feeling of utter pettiness and jealousy, comes the dejection, the realisation that you’re not the same person that you were when you were in the relationship as you are now, without them. Cherry and Falling confirm, for me, that whether it’s a break up Harry’s talking about, or just some really serious troubles, this relationship really forced him to look inside himself.

Most of its quite self-explanatory, but there are some particularly heart-breaking lyrics in this song. In the last chorus, when Harry asks ‘What if you’re someone I just want around?’ he perfectly captures that feeling of knowing that right now, your relationship may not be healthy for either party, but, as it’s basically all you know, you just want that well-known comfort. He’s almost begging them here, asking them why his love for them isn’t enough to make it work, even though he knows they need time apart.

Linking it to my interpretation of the rest of the album, I think there’s a real importance in the image of Harry ‘falling’. He told us in ‘lights up’ that he was never coming back down, yet now? He’s ‘falling again’. He hasn’t reached the ground, but he’s in danger of doing so.

Also, I feel the need to talk about the short bridge

I get the feeling that you’ll never need me again

I think the really important thing here is the verb, to need. I don’t think Harry believes there is no chance of repairing the relationship. Instead, I think that he knows there’s a possibility they’ll want one another again, but they’re grown enough to recognise that they can exist apart, they don’t need each other anymore.

Therefore, as gut-wrenching as this song is, I see it as Harry’s acceptance that he might not need this other person in his life to display the confidence he did in Lights Up, but he wants them there, oh so desperately, ultimately bringing us back round to ‘loving you’s the antidote’.

To Be So Lonely

The last of the not-so-happy tracks (well, other than Fine Line but we’ll get on to that). Their relationship is on the up again, but there is a lot of repairing to do.

Again, this song isn’t overly cryptic. But there are some important things to note.

Don’t call me baby again

In ‘Cherry’, he was pleading with them not to use that pet name with another man. Now, he’s pleading with them not to use it on him. I get the sense that he’s finally accepted that they can’t immediately act like nothing's happened, and is willing to try at friendship, but he isn’t quite ready yet himself.

I just hope you see me in a little better light

Do you think it's easy being of the jealous kind?

Light imagery, again. He’s hoping that now, the subject is able to see him as a better person, perhaps less petty and angry as he was in Cherry and less self-pitying than he was in Falling. Once again, he beautifully displays his flaws in the following line, making it clear that even pop star Harry Styles is guilty of being a jealous little bastard.

And this is it, so I’m sorry

When he enters the chorus after this line, he creates the impression that the chorus is his apology, confirming what he said earlier on in the song (that he’s actually just really bloody bad at apologising). But even considering the moody undertones, this is still an apology. He’s saying that he knows this person had their reasons to spend some time away from him, he knows they both needed it, he just needs a little more time to wallow. It’s the most indulgent song on the album.

I think it’s really important to note that whilst the tone of the song can appear slightly angry, he never once calls the subject out on any of their faults. It’s just as self-deprecating as the rest of the album, and he doesn’t imply that the subject is ever anything but the same person he idolised in Golden, WS or AY. Essentially, TBSL is Harry making it clear that he needs time to be dramatic, even when he knows they’re going to make it.

She

I’ve seen some absolutely wonderful analyses of She, and I share in the sentiment that it is most likely about a journey with gender identity, so I will refrain from rewriting the thoughts of others here.

I do, however, think it’s worth mentioning that back in the Golden analysis, when I referred to the thing that maybe scares the ‘Golden’ figure, and back in the Lights Up analysis, when I said that Harry has found who he is? I definitely believe there’s a link to the journey referenced in She. I think Harry’s journey to self acceptance was something that he had to go through alone, but that didn’t stop it from impacting upon his relationships.

Imo, Sunflower forms the final part of the perfect trio of celebratory songs, alongside Golden and Watermelon Sugar. Golden encompasses the journey, Watermelon Sugar is the beginning and Sunflower comes after the period of separation, as they’re rebuilding their relationship. It’s basically Watermelon Sugar 2.0, the adult version.

Sunflower, Vol. 6

And finally, we're out of the woods!

This time, however, Harry has realised his worth. My not-very-common interpretation of this song is that Harry is the sunflower, not the subject. Why do I think this? Well:

Sunflower (x2), my eyes, want you more than a melody

Like a sunflower turned towards the sun, Harry is stuck pining for this person and longing for their light, ‘more than a melody’. Again, we have multiple links to different songs. The first time they got together (referenced in WS) their love was ‘like a song’. This time, he wants them more than a melody. It’s going to be better, brighter and happier. Alike Golden, this person is as important as the sun, but now Harry, too, is something beautiful. (I know that he always was but he’s realised it now)

Let me inside

Wish I could get to know you

Sunflowers, sometimes, keep it sweet in your memory

Here’s the line that really makes me think Harry is the sunflower, not the subject. In order to be talking about the subject when he uses the word Sunflower, this line would be a switch from speaking directly to the subject, to speaking directly to an audience. I think it’s much simpler than that. If we read the whole song, instead, as simply him speaking only to his subject, then he’s almost asking them to ‘keep it sweet in [their] memory’. Perhaps, this is him showing them that he knows he’s always been this beautiful in their memory, but now he’s aware of it, and wants to ‘get [back] inside’.

I was just tongue-tied

I don't wanna make you feel bad, but I've been trying hard not to talk to you

This just has super innocent energy for me. It’s mega-sweet. He doesn’t want to make them feel bad, he knows he had to learn who he was, and now he’s figured it out he’s just desperate to share it with them.

I couldn't want you any more

Kiss in the kitchen like it's a dance floor

I couldn’t want you anymore tonight.

Wondering headshake, tired eyes are the death of me.

Mouthful of toothpaste, before I got to know you.

I have nothing to say other than these lines are adorably domestic. He’s longing for the warmth and comfort of the love he knows they can share together.

I've got your face, hung up high in the gallery

I love this shade

Again, Harry’s making it clear that he still sees this person as worthy of his ultimate devotion. But this time, the tone is just way simpler than Golden. ‘I love this shade’ suggests to me that he just loves what they are now - he loves to colours that they’ve grown to be, together.

The rest of the song is quite repetitive but there are some stand outs:

Your flowers just died

Plant new seeds in the melody

Yet another lyric that makes me think that Harry is suggesting that he’s the flower and not the subject. He’s changed, been reborn, and now they can plant new seeds together and he’ll grow into something even better. What’s important, really, is that he belongs to the subject, he’s their flower.

And lastly, just,

I’m still tongue tied

Basically, confirmation that this song is about re-infatuation. He was tongue tied in the past, back in the WS days, and he still is now. He’s absolute enamoured with this person, and even now, they have the ability to make him speechless.

Ultimately, Sunflower Vol. 6 is about the feeling of falling in love a second, third, fourth, etc. time over. It’s about rediscovering everything you love about a person, and it brings us out of the rocky part of the album.

Canyon Moon

Finally, they’re back together. Everything is so good this time that whenever he’s around any other couple, he’s thinking of the subject.

There’s not much to say here, other than Harry’s repetitive bridge of multiple ‘I’m going home’ is sooooooo sweet because it’s almost like he’s just sharing with the listeners how he is so elated that he gets to call this person his home again.

Treat People with Kindness

This is probably the only song that doesn’t appear to fit smoothly into my interpretation, but I do think it’s Harry finally acknowledging the outside world, beyond him and the subject. For instance, he doesn’t only use the pronoun ‘I’, but ‘we’ and ‘us’ (If we’re here long enough, they’ll sing a song for us).

Therefore, I don’t really know how else to interpret this other than it being Harry’s request for the world to stop judging everyone and their relationships so harshly. Meaning I can’t, for the life of me, understand a reading in which the relationship that he’s on about isn’t a queer one. But I don’t think I need to get into that...

Fine Line

I’ve already written several in-depth analyses of Fine Line and some of the lyrics that stand out for me (which you can read here), so I’m not going to do it again. However, I think it’s the most beautiful way Harry could have possibly ended the album. It may seem, according to this entire masterpost, that Fine Line wouldn’t make sense as the final song because the overriding tone of the last third of the album is so positive (whilst the song itself is so utterly heart-wrenching).

However, one thing that I think I need to mention here, is that no matter what him and his subject go through and no matter how much Harry endures, this person has remained, without fault, his ‘sunshine’, and Fine Line confirms that for us. Yet, he also acknowledges that the subject is also human, so human that they both have things even they’ll ‘never know’, and his subject has layers upon layers in their being --> spreading you open, is the only way of knowing you

Ultimately, Fine Line (the song) confirms, for me, that this entire album is focused on someone that Harry has found a true soulmate in, his ‘sunshine’, but someone who he is in reachable distance of, who he can join in the ‘light’. And together, they’ll get through whatever the world throws at them. In a way, Fine Line almost completes a perfect circle, bringing us back around to Golden, ready to start the album again. The journey explored in the album is both Harry’s romance with the subject and his own journey to self acceptance, which are closely intertwined (revealed immediately in Golden). When we reach the final song, he’s accepted himself, but he knows that he and his partner are going to face more difficulties. Their fight isn’t over. But, with his overwhelming love for the person...

together, ‘[they’ll] be alright.’

#So #this took me a while lol #But it's a summary of some thoughts that have been swimming round my head for a while #I don't think I've seen some of these interpretations before?#Especially not of Golden and Sunflower #Anyway if anyone wants to discuss anything further pls pop me a message because I could talk on Harry's lyrics for days.#Walls analysis will follow shortly #Also anon #I know you wanted me to look at the parrallels in the Walls and Lights Up music videos so I will aim to include that in the next one #Anyways love to y'all and enjoy reading #Fine Line masterpost #Fine Line lyrics #Golden lyrics #watermelon sugar lyrics #lights up lyrics #adore you lyrics #cherry lyrics #falling lyrics #to be so lonely lyrics #she lyrics #sunflower vol 6 lyrics #canyon moon lyrics #treat people with kindness lyrics #harry styles #harry styles lyrics #hs #larry stylinson #lourry #lyrics analysis #harry styles lyrics analysis

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puppy-prose · 4 years ago

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How about jaskier is a dragon and determines that Geralt is very much his mate. He wants to make it official by fucking on the summer solstice, as dragons do to get married/bond. Geralt, not knowing that he's Jaskier's mate, is v. Confused when the bard starts pawing at his clothes and whining for his cock and that talk about "make me yours Geralt" but is Very Into It once he realizes just what's going on

ahh my first request!! thank you so, so much!! i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!!

Geralt was a witcher—a very good witcher. He could sniff out a bruxae from a mile away; he could track down a wyvern from only a few drops of blood. He knew the differences between rotfiends and ghouls and alghouls, he knew how many spikes were on a manticore’s tail, he knew how to identify and defeat hundreds of monsters, creatures, and beasts of myth.

So, logically, Geralt knew he was a dragon. Jaskier was sure of it. Right?

He didn’t do a very good job of hiding it. How anyone thought he was human baffled him. He hoarded songs and scents, with his precious lite at the center of it all. Notebooks filled to the brim with lyrics and lines—not all of them his. Bags, once he had settled in with Geralt enough to trust him with it, that were always packed with oils, bath salts, and ointments. His temper, too, easy to flare, but easy to forgive. His affinity for shiny, pretty things. And perhaps the most damning of it all, the way he didn’t always act human. The half-raw meat that he never had a problem devouring; the way he always managed to find his way back to Geralt every spring without fail, no matter where on the Continent the witcher was. His unchanged youthful looks, years and years after they met.

So, Jaskier was reasonably certain, Geralt knew what he was. He’d simply not said anything because it was easier—because Geralt disliked honest and open conversations like that. So Jaskier didn’t bother to bring it up either, content in his companion’s silent acceptance.

But truth be told, Jaskier wanted more.

So he asked for it. Subtly, of course. Geralt wasn’t an emotional man—going to him and declaring his love wasn’t exactly an option. So Jaskier started slow, poking and prodding, testing his interests through his kind’s courting traditions. And when his first gift—a pair of gloves made from his own scales, the proud jeweled red dulled and dyed purposefully to keep Geralt safe when he was out stalking beasties—was accepted with a huff, a tiny smile, a roll of the eyes, and Geralt taking awfully good care of them, Jaskier knew his affections were accepted. Perhaps even returned.

More gifts, more rituals followed. Ointments of his favorite scents, carefully diluted for a witcher’s nose, to sooth his dry hands. Intricate braids done during baths, telling stories in his hair; Dutch braids for devotion, crown braids for loyalty, fishtail braids for patience, lace braids for fidelity, with all of them begrudgingly left alone until the next time he desperately needed a bath. The vernal equinox celebrated together by getting awfully drunk on honey wine, procured from the fae themselves.

And lastly, a final gift that could be an equivalent to a human’s engagement ring, he offered to Geralt a plaited bracelet made up of his lute strings, worn and representative of himself, a piece of his prized treasure and a piece of himself practically along with it. And Geralt? Well, Geralt accepted. He wore that bracelet every day, even if he pretended, quite transparently, to be only humoring Jaskier and nothing else. And that was that.

They were mates.

And today was the summer solstice.

Jaskier was antsy. Then again, Geralt was of a mind that Jaskier was always antsy. Fidgety and twitchy, always moving. Like a hummingbird, he thought. It was as if Jaskier expected himself to die if he fell still for even a single minute. But no. This was a different kind of antsy. He’d been extra energetic all day. It was as endearing as it was annoying--though he’d never admit to it.

He’d been whining about leaving the city all day, too. The little bird, always ready to fly away when bored. Gods, Geralt had a hard time hiding his small smiles as Jaskier went on about the boring foods, as he tried to bother him into heading out to the next town as soon as possible. But he’d had to hunt, unfortunately; the city had been plagued with a manticore on its outer regions, and Geralt needed the coin. So he’d had the bard wait for him at the tavern, taken care of the issue, and came back in need of a bath. Jaskier, never one to turn down a bit of pampering whether it was for himself or other people, was happy enough to do so, and they left the city on Jaskier’s insistence in the late afternoon, Geralt’s hair pulled back into a dragon’s braid.

While he’d expected Jaskier to calm as they got further away from the city, the opposite quickly proved itself true. He became more agitated, more twitchy. It prickled at the sense of amusement and content that generally followed him when Jaskier was involved, and as the sun was setting, Geralt finally pulled to a stop, leading them off into a copse of trees. “Go get wood for a fire,” he told Jaskier, hoping getting the man to sleep early that night would fix the issue. “I’ll find us something to eat.”

Together, they set up camp. Geralt had a rabbit caught quickly enough, roasted it over the open fire, and the two of them ate. All throughout the meal, Jaskier jabbered as usual--but his foot kept tapping, his fingers kept rubbing together, his words kept stumbling over themselves. And as the sun disappeared beneath the trees, Geralt caught a whiff of burnt rosemary and sweat. For whatever reason, Jaskier was getting himself worked up.

With a frown, concern marring his brow, Geralt used the tip of his boot to push into the meat of Jaskier’s thigh. “What’s wrong?” he demanded, leaving no room for argument. He wasn’t going to allow the bard to wriggle out of this--not when he’d been acting strangely all day.

Cornflower blue eyes turned up to his. “What? Oh--s’nothing.” Jaskier smiled. “Just a bit nervous, I suppose.”

The witcher’s brow arched. “Nervous?” he repeated. Yes, he could smell that. But he hadn’t expected Jaskier to give that feeling up so easily. “What about?”

“Oh, you know.” Jaskier waved his hand at the sky, his eyes catching--glinting--in the rising moon’s light. “Today was the summer solstice.”

Geralt wasn’t following. He blinked. They’d spent many solstices together. Not winter ones; not yet. One day… But plenty of summer ones. “Why?”

Whether it was the right or the wrong thing to say, Geralt couldn’t tell. It drew a laugh from his bard, slightly hysterical though, and he suddenly found himself with Jaskier’s full attention. He didn’t have that very often. The little bird flitted about here and there; he paid attention to Geralt, all the time, but to put all of his focus on him? To see those blue eyes turn focused and determined, to feel Jaskier staring into his very soul? Yeah, that was a bit intimidating.

“Silly witcher,” Jaskier replied. “This is why, of course.”

In the next moment, too quick for even Geralt’s senses to catch it--though that was likely due to surprise more than anything else--Jaskier was right before him. His breath got stuck in his throat--and then they were kissing.

Gods, Geralt had dreamed of Jaskier’s mouth on his for years. He’d wondered what it tasted like--sweet like the wine he was so fond of? Fruity and full from his dietary preferences? Deep and heady as the forest that Jaskier continued to force himself into with dogged determination? But no. He’d been wrong. It was, somehow, all of those things, and more.

He drew back a little for breath at one point, hardly registering that he’d lifted his hand to cup the nape of Jaskier’s neck, that his precocious little bird had pushed his way between his legs, on his knees before the log Geralt was sitting on. But Jaskier didn’t let him go for even long enough to open his eyes, dragging him back into another kiss. It was searing and hot, really hot, and he gave a soft, involuntary groan.

Finally, though, Jaskier moved back. It was only so he could tug and pull at the leather of Geralt’s armor, swearing under his breath as he pulled at the stubborn closures, swaying close to him and interrupting his own progress. But even with Geralt’s head still reeling from the sudden makeout session, even with him bemused by Jaskier’s usually smooth seducing capabilities turned into him fumbling with a jerkin, he didn’t miss the fact that Jaskier did not look like Jaskier.

Two horns, ivory, ridged in a spiral growing pattern, protruded from Jaskier’s head. They curved back and downwards towards his skull, before turning back up towards the night sky, the tips deadly sharp. Red scales were slowly emerging from his skin to smatter over his cheeks like rouge, like a glamor being revealed bit by bit, Geralt’s medallion not so much as twitching--ancient magic, powerful magic that slipped by even his detection. And he was fumbling, the witcher realized, because his nails had sharpened, those same jewel-toned scaled stretching up the backs of his hands, disappearing up the pale blue of his doublet.

“Dammit,” Jaskier whined, impatience thick on him, the nervous scent already beginning to fade away. “Just want you to fuck me, and this stupid--this--fuck!” He turned his eyes up to Geralt, cat-slit pupils just like the witcher’s own blown in the dark of the night, wide with his desire. “Geralt, please,” he begged, leaning in for another kiss--a kiss that Geralt didn’t refuse. And not just because he was caught off-guard by the novel sensation of being kissed with a newly forked tongue. “Please,” he continued when they broke apart, rubbing his cheek against his like a cat, like he was scenting him, the scratch of the scales not at all painful, instead kind of… Nice? “C’mon, help me, please, need you in me so bad…”

A lot of things clicked together in that moment.

Jaskier’s quick loyalty. His ability to walk hours and hours every day, nonstop. His music, the notebooks that he filled and then sent back to Oxenfurt to be kept safe. The bag of oils and creams that Geralt had not been allowed to so much as touch until two years ago, while they’d been traveling together for over a decade.

The gloves. The vernal equinox. The braids.

Fuck, the bracelet.

Jaskier saw him as his mate. And he’d been courting him, quietly, without drawing attention to it, for months now. And here they were--Jaskier believing him to have accepted his claim, Jaskier looking to seal their relationship by bonding on the night of the summer solstice, tying them together by the ancient magics of the earth for many, many centuries to come. No wonder the poor bard had been nervous.

Geralt was sort of glad he only realized now what was going on, because he knew he would have been nervous, too.

The revelation settled under his skin with surprising ease. Vesemir, should he ever catch word of how long it took him to identify a dragon that had been living side by side with him for years, would tan his hide. But all Geralt could feel was relief. His little hummingbird--or, he supposed, his little dragon, now--wasn’t going to suffer a mortal’s tragically short life. He’d live for hundreds of years more, thousands even, if he didn’t get himself killed first. And Geralt? Geralt could have every single one of those years if he accepted this. If he chose to become Jaskier’s mate.

It wasn’t really a choice at all.

Geralt’s calloused hand took Jaskier’s chin between his fingers. He dragged him up into another kiss, swallowing down the keen that fell between them, and nipped at Jaskier’s bottom lip as they pulled away. “Needy,” he huffed, a smile twitching at his mouth. He dropped his own hands to his armor; it got tossed to the forest floor quickly, Jaskier’s hands immediately setting upon the pale, scarred skin of his soon-to-be mate.

Feeling a bit vindictive for the years that Jaskier had never outright told him what he was, Geralt got hold of the bard’s doublet. He jerked the edges of it, eyes twinkling in satisfaction as the buttons popped off, no chance against his strength. “Hey,” Jaskier reprimanded, the seriousness he intended to put in his voice severely undercut by the breathy way it came out. “I liked this doublet.”

“I’ll get you a new one,” the witcher replied.

It brought a smile to his wicked, wicked mouth, and Geralt dove in for yet another bruising kiss. He pushed the doublet off Jaskier’s shoulders, the satin dropping into the dirt with as much care as his armor had gotten, and he managed to wrestle his chemise off between wet kisses. His mouth was red and wet when he pulled back; Geralt didn’t resist the urge to cup his cheek, to drag his thumb over the abused bottom lip. Jaskier, eyes dark, quickly sucked his thumb into his mouth. He had fangs now, Geralt noted absently, pressing the pad down onto his tongue until Jaskier was forced to open his mouth wide. He rubbed a small arc over the muscle, the dragon obediently still. It didn’t stop him from whimpering when drool pooled and dripped from the sides of his mouth, though.

His thumb was soaked when he pulled it from Jaskier’s tongue. He looked gorgeous--pupils dilated and wanting, chin glistening from the spit, the red of his scales seeming to bleed into the rest of his face for the way his skin was flushed with lust.

“Geralt,” Jaskier begged. “Please.”

So Geralt went.

He wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s middle and pushed him back, back, supporting his weight to keep him from slamming into the ground, but none too gentle otherwise. The roughness seemed to excite Jaskier; he moaned and wrapped his legs around the witcher’s waist, those clawed hands finding purchase behind his shoulders. Geralt didn’t mind the sting. He licked his way into Jaskier’s mouth yet again, and then let his mouth trail down, exploring the other parts of him. His scales were rough against his tongue and he had to be mindful of the direction he went to avoid getting scratched; his jaw and throat were velvety soft and tasted of sweet orange and a deep earthy musk. Jaskier’s pulse fluttered under his lips, and he paid special attention to the edges of the scales that had appeared along his collarbone as well, the dragon shivering with delight.

“Fuck me,” Jaskier pleaded. Geralt reached down between them; his hand was hot over top of Jaskier’s trousers, palming his cock underneath, making the bard’s babbling turn into high pitched whining, hips rocking up.

“Be patient,” he scolded, biting into his throat, watching a bruise blossom there. What was the use in having a dragon as a mate if he didn’t indulge in his own more animalistic urges? Yes, by the end of tonight, he’d have Jaskier claimed just as thoroughly as Jaskier had claimed him.

The bard stammered, bereft, when Geralt moved his hand. He forewent telling him to be patient again, instead hooking his fingers into Jaskier’s trousers and yanking them down, shifting until he could get them and his boots and his smallclothes off all in one go. More ruby scales wrapped around the outside of his thighs, dipped into the hollows of his hips--and his dick was definitely part of pieces of him that hadn’t quite stayed human.

Thick, red, ridged, and with a pointed tip, Geralt couldn’t help but smirk as he drew it into his hand. His little dragon cried out and he watched, fascinated, as a pearly few drops of precum beaded at the slit. It wasn’t anything like he’d fantasized about, when he’d taken himself in hand in his weaker moments when the bard was asleep, imagining what Jaskier’s cock might look like. But it was good, better than good, better than anything he could have dreamed of. Smearing his thumb into the wetness, he spread it down Jaskier’s cock, dragging his hand up and down the shaft. A few more drops appeared from the attention, and he did the same with those as well, slicking him up nicely.

He dropped his hand away, then, to get rid of the rest of his own clothes. Most people didn’t like to see him without clothes. Certainly, they enjoyed his figure, but the scars--the crisscrossing of monsters’ marks, the hunts that had gone wrong, the people that had hunted him instead painting a gruesome picture across his skin. But with Jaskier, it had never been like that. He’d never been bothered. And, considering he was about to fuck a man with scales all over, horns, and a dragon dick, Geralt supposed he wasn’t bothered, either.

Bare at last, Geralt dragged Jaskier’s hips up close. He wrapped his hand around them both, only just managing it really, and the both of them groaned at the sensation. Heat flourished between them and he jerked them off, stretching out over him to bite his stomach, his chest, his shoulders, his neck. Yes, Jaskier would be a patchwork of bruises come tomorrow morning, and by the way he jerked into each one of them, Geralt had no doubt that he was just as enthusiastic about that prospect as he was.

But as good as this was, it certainly wasn’t what either of them wanted. So he let go soon, smirking again as he wiped the sticky precum on his hand onto Jaskier’s thigh. “Knees,” he commanded, leaning back onto his own so he could reach for Jaskier’s bag. Might as well use what he had there, after all. Being his mate meant being privy to his hoard.

For perhaps the first time in his life, Jaskier listened to him. He keened but turned over, propping his hips up onto his knees. His shoulders pressed low, nearly to the dirt, and he rested his forehead on his wrists, the upturn of his horns just barely above the ground.

Geralt came back to him with a vial of lilac oil. It was one of the ones he’d begun to create for Geralt--that was to say, the scent was heavily diluted, only just strong enough for a hint of smell in consideration of his nose, and perfect for their purposes. He uncorked the vial and used his knees to open Jaskier’s legs wider; his free hand pulled one side of his ass away, leaving him free to get at his puckered hole, where he then dripped the oil down onto. Jaskier gasped and lurched, the liquid no doubt cold, but the witcher held him firm. He lathered up his own fingers, set the glass to the side, and leaned over top of him, licking and kissing the dragon’s scaled shoulder blades as he slowly, slowly sank a finger inside him.

“Geraaaalt!” Jaskier cried. Gods, if he was already this desperate, panting into the dirt and shivering with a single digit, Geralt couldn’t imagine how he’d be once he actually had his cock inside him.

“Lucky this is what it is,” he huffed, dragging Jaskier’s ear into his mouth and relishing the cry that came from it. “Otherwise I’d gag you and tie you down, make you learn some patience.” The dragon’s response was to moan wetly, shoulders shuddering, his tapered cock twitching.

Geralt pressed in a second finger, then. He kept his attention with those bites, scissoring him open, loosening him up. A third joined swiftly after; gods, they were mating, not just fucking. He was going to make sure this was good for Jaskier.

Finally, finally Jaskier was loose enough. He pulled his fingers out and grabbed the vial again, using the rest of it to slick up his cock, the subtle scent sweet between them. His hands found Jaskier’s hips; the dragon’s stomach dropped down further, ass staying in the air. “Breathe,” he said kindly. He waited until Jaskier drew a shaky breath in, out, and then in again before lining up his cock and pushing inside.

The cry of Geralt’s name was more broken syllables than anything, too loud and desperate to pronounce much of it correctly. “Fuck,” Geralt himself said, bending over the dragon. “Fuckin’ tight, Jask. Godsdammit.” He was so fucking tight, so hot around him, his body giving way each inch to the witcher’s intrusion. Jaskier could only mewl in return, his nails clawing into the rich earth, his sides heaving with each panting breath.

He bottomed out, and stayed there for a moment. Being inside Jaskier was dizzying, wonderful; he swore he could feel the air turn lighter around them, easier to breath, sparks flickering underneath his skin. Was this the ancient magic, readying to bind them? Or was this just Jaskier, was it just the fact that finally, he could give in to the feelings he’d ignored for so long, the urges he’d repressed, now that he knew not only did Jaskier feel the same way in return, but that he wouldn’t have to face his demise in what would be, for him a blink of the eye? He wasn’t sure. And, well. Quite frankly, in this moment, Geralt didn’t really give a shit.

“Fuck me,” Jaskier finally managed to say. “Geralt, my mate, please, please! Breed me, fill me up, wanna be yours!”

The words shot through him and what little patience he had left quickly fled. “You want to be bred, little dragon?” he asked, fingers tightening, bruising Jaskier’s hips. “Fine.”

A single kiss to his throat, and then Geralt pulled out to just the head of his cock. In one smooth, brutal motion, he slammed back into Jaskier. It sent the dragon rocking forward a few inches--it sent him roaring, the mighty sound seeming to shake the very trees around them. It was fucking hot, Geralt had to admit, and he groaned before he did it again, and again, setting a merciless pace. He’d never been much of a talker during sex, but he found himself rambling now, bearing his weight down on Jaskier, driving into that tight, wet heat.

“Like it, don’t you, Jask?” he asked, breathing too hard himself to properly bite for the moment, little strands of hair come loose from his braid and before his face, making him look wild, animalistic. “Wanna be bred like the bitch that you are. Fucked in the dirt. Look at you. Such a noble, proud beast. Taking every inch of a beast-slayer’s cock.” Jaskier sobbed, the sound wet, but he kept rocking his hips back into every thrust. They’d traveled together far too long; after the nights Geralt had been forced to listen to through thin inn doors, he knew better than anyone how rough, cruel words could reduce the bard to putty in any man’s hand. The best part? Now they were his hands. And there would never be anyone else.

The thrill of the thought shot through him. Geralt wrapped his arm tight around his middle; his other hand reached up, grabbing onto the base of one of Jaskier’s horns. He used the leverage to haul him up, going back on his own haunches and making the dragon sit on his lap, his cock driving in deeper, brushing against the bundle of nerves so far inside him. Jaskier thrashed, his nails digging into Geralt’s arm, drawing blood; the witcher didn’t mind, holding him through it, keeping his head still even as he fucked up into him, unforgiving and fast. “You’re mine,” he growled. “All mine.”

Jaskier nodded quickly, gasping for breath, only just getting enough air each time to expel it in some noise or another. The tingling under his skin got stronger--definitely the ancient magic, then. Especially considering he watched as sparks of golden light glittering below Jaskier’s skin, barely noticeable, like the chaos was struggling to burst free at any moment. Geralt suspected he looked much the same.

“Gonna breed you,” he promised, tightening his arm around him. “Mate you. Make you mine forever.”

Without warning, he shoved them both to the ground once again. His cock drove into Jaskier and the dragon roared again; Geralt’s hands moved to grab his wrists, push them into the dirt. He used his weight, every inch of their bodies flush together, to keep Jaskier down. And, with the both of them getting closer and closer, he gave in to the beast side of himself. His teeth, sharp and pointed, sliced into the back of Jaskier’s neck. Blood welled up in his mouth immediately, copper and sharp, but he didn’t let go, Jaskier’s pained moan doing little but encouraging him, pinning him against the earth.

It was too much. Jaskier’s sounds got louder, more desperate, more unhinged, before he screamed, his whole body quivering with the force of his climax. His cock pulsed as he came, streaks of white painting the dirt below and flecking onto his stomach above, too. It made his walls tighten around Geralt--and that was it. He was done for. The witcher growled and bit down tighter, his thrusts growing erratic, wild.

With a snarl, he came. He rocked his hips down into Jaskier as he filled him, splashing hot cum inside him, the dragon whimpering. The tingling grew in intensity for just a moment--and then it faded away, leaving him feeling whole in a place in his very soul he hadn’t realized he’d been empty beforehand.

A few more little thrusts and then, with care, he slid his teeth from his neck and pulled his softening cock from Jaskier’s tired body. He grabbed a rag from one of the bags and wiped them both down, pausing for a moment to watch his own cum leak out of Jaskier’s red, loose hole and down his thighs, before getting them clean and, with effort, transporting them both into one of the sleeping rolls.

Face to face with Jaskier, the poor bard blinking slowly, languidly, he couldn’t help but smile and lift his hand. His fingers brushed over the scales on his cheeks, utterly gorgeous.

“Mm,” the dragon hummed, forcing his eyes to flutter open. “My mate.” Nothing could change that now. Not a mage, not a spell, not even destiny herself. Geralt was his, and he was Geralt’s. End of story.

The smile Geralt gave in return was soft, genuine. His golden gaze was gentle, and he gave a tiny nod. “Yes,” he confirmed, barely a rumble in the night air. “Sleep, now. You deserve the rest.” He let his hand fall to Jaskier’s side instead, holding him close. Jaskier gave a gentle hum, shifted a little bit closer, closed his eyes--and slept.

#geraskier #devilkin-kink #my writing //#filled requests //#lemons //

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hunidlo · 4 years ago

Text

Call of Fire

CHAPTER 4 - The Stranger

Rating: M

Word Count: 3.5K

Pairing: The Mandalorian x F!Reader

Warnings: slow burn fic, language, a lot of angst and tension between the main protagonists

Summary: You don’t like him. At all. Simultaneously, he manages to aggravate you with his silence and terrify you when he decides to speak occasionally. Yet, in hyperspace you have some time to get to know your mysterious chauffeur a little bit more.

Previous Chapter // Masterlist // Next Chapter

***

You wake up to see the Mandalorian kneeling beside you, holding your shoulders and shaking you. He’s surprisingly gentle.

You’re lying on the floor and the last thing you remember is getting to the cockpit of the Mandalorian’s ship and him telling you to buckle up after the strange ship attacked you.

“Um, what happened?” You touch the sore spot on your head—the consequence of how you knocked yourself out when the laser blast hit the ship and threw you against the wall. “Ouch!” You sit up with your back against the cockpit wall. There’s a small bump on your head—a brand new addition to your collection of bruises and wounds from the day before—and you can tell that the split lip the bandit gave you is now bleeding again.

“You didn’t listen to me … that’s what happened,” the pile of beskar beside you says. “If you had strapped in—”

“Okay, okay …” You wonder how many times he has criticized you for something in the course of the past two hours. Three times? Four times? And now he’s getting on your nerves again. “What happened with the ship that was shooting at us?” you ask, trying to deviate from the topic of you disobeying his order.

“No longer a problem … shot it down,” he announces matter-of-factly. “How’s your head?” he continues, leaving you no time to ask more questions such as Who were they? or Why did they shoot at us?

“It’s fine,” you say. It’s spinning and my face hurts but it could be worse, is what you mean.

You look around the cockpit. You have only a very hazy memory of the last time you were on a starship—it was fifteen years ago just before your parents left you with the villagers on an unknown planet. It’s quiet, you think. For some reason you expected the ship to be louder. Stripes of white light are flashing behind the viewport. The phenomenon looks familiar and makes you assume you’re probably in hyperspace, meaning far away from the only place you remember calling your home.

When you turn your attention back to the Mandalorian, he seems to be studying your bruised face, his helmet cocked to the side a little. He is quiet, gradually making you more antsy, the longer he keeps glaring at you without moving or saying anything.

Just when you think you should say something to end the silence, a gloved hand comes up and towards your cheek. Your instincts tell you to jerk your head backwards to avoid his touch, partially afraid of it causing more pain to your beaten face, and partially taken by surprise of the unexpected intimacy of his movement.

Immediately, you realise that he most probably didn’t mean any harm. But it’s too late now …

Seeing your reaction, he clenches his hand into a fist and lowers it again to rest it on his thigh, bowing his head down.

Before you can open your mouth and say something he stands up and strolls away towards the ladder to the cargo hold.

“Are you taking me to Hoth?” you quickly ask after him.

He does not respond to you, swiftly slides down the ladder, leaving you alone in the cockpit, still sitting on the floor.

You wonder whether he always deals with uncomfortable situations by silence and solitude, and you eventually come to a conclusion that he most likely does. Apparently, expressing what he thinks or wants to do with words doesn’t come naturally to him as it does to you, and you realise that he probably spends most of the time by himself and isn’t used to talking to other living beings very often.

You get to your wobbly feet and follow him down the ladder.

You feel an immense need to rest now.

Shit, your backpack!

Where did you leave your backpack? Ah, yes … your hideout behind the crates.

You sit on one of the crates, take the bottle of water from your backpack and drink like you have spent the last two days on a desert planet.

The Mandalorian is cleaning his blaster at the workbench acting like he hasn’t noticed you joining him in the cargo hold. He sure does a great job ignoring you when he wants to.

“So …,” you interrupt the insufferable silence, “how long until we get there?” Despite trying hard to hide it, you are still a bit scared of him and are not sure what his intentions with you are right now so you tread lightly, testing the waters first with a simple question.

“A day ... “ the Mandalorian starts after a beat.

Oh, that’s shorter than you—

“... to Navarro,” he finishes.

Wait, what?

“Navarro?” your voice is more pitched than you originally intended. “We should be going to Hoth?”

All sorts of questions are now emerging in your head like Why is he taking you to Nevarro? And what the hell is Nevarro?

He doesn’t say anything for a while, so you continue but decide not to deviate from your initial request. “My parents are rich, you know?” you lie, trying to negotiate with him—motivate him to give you what you want. Mandalorians are mercenaries and bounty hunters, right? So he would definitely not refuse an opportunity to gain some credits, you assume. “I’m sure they will be more than generous if you delivered me to Hoth as soon as possible.”

“We don’t have enough fuel to get to Hoth,” he says dryly without looking at you.

Evidently, your tactics are not working.

“But, we have a deal—”

“No, we haven’t.”

Oh, come on! You’re losing your patience again.

“I need to get to Hoth!” You stand up and give him one of your infamous frowns as if being stubborn has so far got you anywhere with this indomitable metal oaf.

“Hoth was a week away from your planet. I need to refuel first,” he’s indifferent to both your demand and the way you just raised your voice at him. “Plus, the ship needs fixing, one of the engines suffered damage.”

Maybe he’s not making it up after all.

“Fine …,” you sigh in defeat and roll your eyes. You’ll go to Nevarro with him, let him fix the ship and then you can continue to Hoth. It’s not like you are in a hurry, right? You waited fifteen years, surely you can wait a couple more days. “… Where do I sleep?”

He doesn’t reply with words, just lazily waves his hand around the cargo hold. Take your pick, is how you read it.

Is he joking? He must be joking.

“There’s only one bed.” You assume it’s his, and you’re sure as hell the hand gesture wasn’t an invitation to his bunk. “Where’s the other one?” You quickly scan the hull again and see nothing resembling a second bunk.

“Does it look like an inn here to you?” Only now does he turn his visor to look at you.

No, it surely does not, a venomous comeback runs through your head but you know better than to utter it out loud so you just sigh.

So he wasn’t joking, he’s gonna let you sleep on the floor of his dirty fucking ship. How rude.

On the other hand, well … he’s sort of right. You don’t want to admit it but if you’re being honest … What were you expecting? Bed and breakfast and a bedtime story? Deep down you know you should be grateful that he hasn’t kicked you out of his ship yet. He lets you stay and eventually might even take you to your parents—although you are not so sure about the last part. After all, you yelled at him, threatened him with his own gun, and broke into his ship. Twice.

Then again … you are not going to admit it so yeah … he’s rude and you don’t like him one bit.

He’s obviously fed up with the conversation and is about to leave for the cockpit but you don’t feel like being finished yet—

“I’m dirty,” you blurt out.

Shit, that didn’t sound right …

He stops in his tracks, turning his visor to rest his look on your face again. It seems you have caught his attention. You can almost sense him raise his eyebrows and smirk as he cocks his head.

“I mean … I need to take a shower and wash my clothes.”

The silence that comes after almost everything you say to him is maddening.

After a moment—when he’s finally done scrutinizing what you said—he simply points his finger towards the ‘fresher at the end of the hull.

“And-um …,” you mumble, looking at your toes now, “I don’t have anything else to wear so …”—you already suspect what you’ll get for an answer before the question leaves your lips—“I was thinking you could lend me some clothes until mine get dry?”

…

“Asshole,” you mutter when he’s halfway up the ladder having no decency to reply to you before he turns and leaves. He probably hears you but decides to pretend he hasn't.

Later in the ‘fresher, you frown at yourself in the mirror. Fuck! Your face is a mess, and so is your hair and clothes. The bruise on your face is starting to change its colour from purple to repulsive yellow, and opening your mouth is a challenge on its own due to the sharp pain shooting to your jaw every time you try. When you're finished inspecting your numerous wounds, one by one you detangle the twigs from your hair, then take off your muddy clothes and wash them in the washbasin.

The shower is definitely the highlight of this day. For a moment, you just relax and enjoy hot water running down your tired limbs and washing away the events of the past couple of days. Even if you doubt the feeling will last.

Okay, now … soap.

You cautiously sniff the content of the bottle that you’ve found on a shelf in the shower, just to be sure you have the right thing. From what you’ve seen, it could well be some oil for the Mandalorian’s armour or whatnot. To your surprise, it smells fresh, masculine, and a little bit like forest.

“That grumpy bastard sure smells nice under all that beskar,” you smirk to yourself as you pour a decent amount of soap in your palm.

But when you get off the shower … oh, no …

… there’s only one towel—his. You haven’t thought of that before.

Well, desperate times, desperate measures.

***

You decide to hang your wet clothes in the cargo hold, hoping they would get dry soon.

A dull thud comes from behind you, making you jump scare and turn around.

The Mandalorian is standing motionless under the ladder to the cockpit, his visor boring into you.

“What?” You cross your arms on your chest perfectly aware that you are currently wearing just your underwear and his towel wrapped around you. “I told you I had no spare clothes.”

He doesn’t seem to be bothered with your reproving tone though. His visor moves awkwardly slowly, following your silhouette from your feet up to your face where his look lingers for a beat. Then, without a word, he passes by you to get to the workbench.

After a moment of searching in the boxes on the top shelves, he shoots his hand backwards, clutching a black long-sleeve shirt.

"Cover yourself," he commands with his back turned to you. He sounds almost angry.

"Gladly," you snarl back and snatch the shirt from his hand.

You turn away from him to put the shirt on. It’s not quite as long as you’d like but it’s better than nothing—and it smells just like his soap—so you’re not going to complain about it.

When you turn back—still not decided whether or not to thank him—you find yourself facing the blackened visor of his helmet. He’s close. How did he get this close without you noticing? In his hands, the Mandalorian is carrying two neatly folded blankets, a pillow, and some sort of ointment—most probably intended for your face. He extends his hands just a little, and the simple gesture—being the first pure expression of kindness so far—stuns you. Maybe he isn’t as hard-hearted as you initially thought.

He tilts the chin of the helmet to the side as if thinking hard about something.

“Do I smell … Did you use my soap?” By the tone of his voice you can tell that the brief moment of softness has just ended and he’s back to being his usual cold pissed self again.

“Well, I didn’t have time to pack mine, did I?” You allow your mouth to get loose. “I like it though,” you smirk when he turns the visor to pierce you with his look again. “... smells good.”

The silent faceless look is still so hard to read for you.

The hand by his side twitches and for a split second you think he’s going to reach for your face again.

You don't know why but this time, you would let him.

He doesn’t though. Instead, he turns and walks away from you, across the hull to his bunk.

“You have something in your hair,” he says matter-of-factly as he’s clambering into his bed, before the hatch shuts behind him.

You stand there dumbfounded for a second before you reach in your hair …

“Nice,” you exhale, pulling out a twig with leaves from your wet hair.

***

Zullu is standing in front of you.

“You’re special,” the voice echoes to you through the void.

There’s a shadowy figure behind her.

“Zullu!” you cry out. “Watch out!”

Zullu falls to the ground—motionless.

The same figure is now standing behind you. They extend their hand and lay it on your shoulder and shake you vigorously.

“No!” You jolt awake and sit up breathing heavily, looking at the Mandalorian who is crouching beside your makeshift bed represented by several crates that you pushed together and put a blanket on them.

His hand is still on your shoulder while your hand is currently squeezing his arm to the point that it’s definitely hurting you more than him.

“You were screaming from sleep,” he says when he sees your confusion and you both let go of each other. “... Woke me up,” he informs.

Perhaps, you’re still too emotional from seeing your best friend die in front of you again to think rationally but his rather innocent announcement bewilders you.

“I’m sorry, my nightmare disturbed your slumber,” you snarl, words dripping with sarcasm.

You can’t help it, for some reason you just wish to elicit a reaction from him, other than the usual silence—the omnipresent, insufferable, deafening silence which he evidently enjoys so much but has been driving you crazy. From the moment you first saw him, you just have to keep guessing what he’s thinking and feeling—and you’re done with him being this fucking enigma for you all the time.

However, he’s apparently not willing to give you the response you want because he just wordlessly climbs up to the cockpit—the loudest sound in the quiet hull being the angry thuds his boots make on the ladder rungs.

You sit on your bed—head in your hands—frustrated with your own irracional behaviour.

You should probably go and apologize to him, you think, realising your overreaction was bloody stupid. Then again, maybe it will be wiser to let him cool down a bit before you try to approach him.

***

You can’t sleep.

It’s been a good two hours since the Mandalorian left the cargo hold in the middle of the night and you have been unable to fall asleep again.

Should you go after him? … What should you say? … What is he doing up there, anyway? goes through your head making it impossible for you to rest.

You finally get up and clamber into the cockpit. You carefully approach the Mandalorian who is sitting in the pilot’s chair.

When you’re close enough, you notice that he’s resting his helmet on his shoulder—he’s sleeping.

He looks so peaceful now with his hands folded on his chest, his legs outstretched and crossed under the control panel. You wonder whether his neck hurts when he wakes up after sleeping in such a position with his helmet on.

God!—you realise—you haven’t seen him without his helmet. Actually, you haven’t seen him taking off any part of his armour. Zullu’s grandmother used to talk about the Mandalorian armour, but never said anything about who they were under their impenetrable gleaming beskar shells. That realisation makes you wonder what he looks like under the helmet.

Against your better judgement, you hesitantly wave your hand in front of his visor to make sure he’s passed out, take a deep breath—mustering all your courage—and start gingerly lifting his helmet.

You are able to lift it by mere inches before a hand shoots up and catches your wrist, keeping a tight grip on you almost painfully. You immediately let go of the hem of the helmet.

“What are you doing?” His voice is quiet, tone dead serious. If he wasn’t irritated before, there is no doubt he’s mad at you now.

Fuck. Fuck! You have overstepped, you’re sure of it.

His next movement is swift and sudden. Before you can come up with a reply or do basically anything, he’s towering above you and cornering you against the control panel. He’s so close that you can feel each of his furious heavy breaths as his chest plate presses periodically against your torso with every inhale he makes.

You gulp thickly, not daring to move a muscle. You got the reaction you so desperately wanted from him and now you regret ever irking him.

“Don’t ever do that again!” His voice is impossibly low and threatening.

This time, it’s you who doesn’t speak.

He quickly let’s go of your hand and backs up a little when he feels your body slightly flinch under his deadly stare and sees the glimpse of fear in your eyes.

You use this opportunity to rush from him as fast as you can, leaving him where he stands in the cockpit.

You would be able to hear the Mandalorian sigh if you weren’t trying so hard to push back a whimper as you climb down the ladder to the hull.

***

You slump into your bed and stay there until morning.

You hate him. You should have never come to his ship. Each wave of remorse about leaving your village is choking you until you seriously consider paying someone to fly you back as soon as you get to Nevarro.

But … you can’t go back. Apart from not having enough credits, there is nothing waiting for you there. You need to keep going—find your parents and figure out how you were able to kill that bandit with just your mind. You have to do it for yourself, and for Zullu.

Interrupting your train of thought, the Mandalorian appears in the hull. He’s quiet. He approaches you and slowly lays a tray with something that looks like processed food in front of you without saying anything or looking at you.

Is … is this his weird way of apologizing?

He sits down on one of the crates in the hull in front of you, pulling out his rifle to clean it.

It is an apology, you realise. And you feel like it’s your turn now.

“I’m … I’m sorry.” Your voice is thin and almost inaudible. “I’m sorry, I snapped at you, and I’m sorry if I … offended you.”

He doesn’t look at you, just nods almost imperceptibly. “And I’m sorry if I hurt your hand,” he says eventually.

“It’s okay,” you say and rub your wrist. He didn’t really hurt you but you think it’s quite considerate of him to mention it.

“So what’s up with the helmet?” you hesitantly ask. “Don’t you ever take it off?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“This is the way,” he says simply.

“I … apologize, I didn’t know.” You didn’t. How could you? You never met a Mandalorian, you only heard the stories and Zullu’s grandmother never mentioned that they don’t show their faces.

“It’s fine. Just don’t try to take … don’t do that again.” he says quietly but definitely, and you somehow know you are not supposed to ask anymore.

You silently nod to let him know you understood.

You eventually eat the food he has given you and watch him quietly tinker with his rifle.

You still don’t like him but feel that somehow this brief conversation cleared the air between the two of you meaning you are finally able to relax a bit in his presence.

Neither of you say anything for the rest of the way to Nevarro.

The silence—however—doesn’t feel as thick and suffocating as it did before.

***

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